


Blind

by wobuzhidao322



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Bounty Hunters, M/M, Organized Crime, The Mandalorian (TV) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:08:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27339934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wobuzhidao322/pseuds/wobuzhidao322
Summary: How can you walk on the path of the right when you're wrong? The Mandalorian returns to Tatooine, where he meets a strange Marshal in a strange town and finds that maybe he has been blind to what he really seeks. However, the force's will is strange, and sometimes the path of fate is long and winding. Just as quickly as it tears people apart, it can bring them back together again.Completely Canon Divergent. We are off on our own little voyage here.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Cobb Vanth, Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Comments: 106
Kudos: 378





	1. Chapter 1

The town was as dead as Peli Motto had said it might be. In fact, to call Mos Pelgo a town at all felt like a little bit of a stretch. It was more like a dried-out husk of one. Another skeleton picked dry by the desert, just like the others that littered the surface of Tatooine. As Din and the child cruised through the collection of burnt-out homes on the speeder bike, he caught sight of what few townspeople seemed to call this place home. Their eyes were sunken in, tired in a way he knew too well. These people had known horrors; that much was clear. Not that this was anything new to Din. Half the galaxy had lived under the horrors of the empire. At least these people were still here, unlike his own. 

Din parked the borrowed speeder outside what appeared to be a bar. It was the only building in town with no door, and unlike his usual haunts on Navarro, it didn't seem to be packed to the brim with the scum of the galaxy either. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was completely empty and just as quiet as the rest of this ghost town. There had been no sign of the other Mandalorian yet, but if he really was here in Mos Pelgo, it couldn't long before they crossed paths. There was, after all, only one road. That didn't leave much room to get lost. In the bag at his side, the child babbled absent-mindedly, unaware of the way the tension in his father's body as Din stepped off the bike and onto the dusty ground. It couldn't have been too long ago now since the Armorer had granted him his signet and sent him off on this quest, and yet it felt like ages had passed. Now, finally, he was on the right path, the path to his people. How long had it been since he had met another one of his people not from the covert on Navarro? Din couldn't quite remember. Despite himself, he could feel the vague tinge of excitement at the idea of meeting another of his kin. Din tamped that down as best he could. After so many false leads and unlucky breaks, being excited seemed more foolish than anything else. Still, a small part of Din Djarin hoped so very desperately. 

With a sigh, he turned to look at the child. It looked back, eyes wide and curious. He held out a cautioning finger, which the child promptly tried to grab. "You stay here. I'll be right back," he said, trying to sound firm yet reassuring. Even in a place like this, it wouldn't do for it to go wandering off as it so often did. The child blinked in response but made no immediate move to try and follow him. Close enough. 

Din headed inside towards the bar. It was about as shabby as he might have expected, but still relatively clean and bright. There was nothing inessential in sight. The spartan nature of the room set him strangely at ease. It was a welcome break from the chaos of the fighting rings and dens of villainy he was used to. Din could see why the other Mandalorian would like it here. It was quiet and simple. So very far away from it all. Peaceful, almost. 

The barkeep, who had been grinding some strange blend of spices in a vessel on the side of the bar, looked up as Din entered. Unlike even those he encountered in Mos Eisley, the barkeep didn't seem the least bit perturbed at seeing someone in full Mandalorian armor. That was a good sign, Din thought, that meant the other one must be familiar enough to the townspeople here.  
"Can I help you," asked the barkeep. There was no suspicion or even curiosity in his tone, just the same quiet exhaustion that seemed to hang over this whole place.  
"I'm looking for a Mandalorian," Din replied, hands coming to rest gently on the bar. He meant it as a show of good faith. No weapons, just conversation. If the barkeep noticed the subtle gesture of goodwill, he didn't show it.  
"Well,' said the barkeep, "we don't get many visitors around these parts. Can you describe him?"  
Din had to bite back the sigh of exasperation. He couldn't tell if the local was giving him the runaround or not. Mandalorians were rare enough, but there was very little chance that the other hadn't at least explained his armor to the townsfolk if there was one who lived in these parts. Hell, Din had to explain his vows to practically everyone in the galaxy he encountered. There was no way that one of his kind had been living here, in a town of barely thirty residents, and not told them what he was. So, either there was no Mandalorian here, and he had been tricked, or there was, and this barkeep was having him on. Both scenarios made him itch for his blaster, but he pulled it together, hands clenching a little against the counter.  
"Someone who looks like me," he finally managed, thankful for the gentle distortion of the helmet as it smoothed over his frustrated tone.  
The Barkeeper gave him another once over before he spoke again. It was considering, but not in a way that brokered suspicion. It was more like the barkeep was merely looking over the armor to make sure he hadn't misunderstood.  
"You mean the marshal," he asked.  
"Your marshal wears Mandalorian armor?" Din replied, curious. It wasn't odd to think that a Mandalorian hiding on Tatooine might take up the protection of a place like this for a fair price. Not everyone was cut out for or wanted guild work, and shitty rim planets like this were always full of those who needed protection. Yet, it was a little strange to think that they would have integrated themselves so much into this small town that they would be given a title, let alone an actual official position. On all his time on Navarro, no one had ever called him anything but "Mando."  
As his question hung in the air, Din noticed as the barkeep's eyes shifted towards the door quickly and then back to him before he answered. "See for yourself."

Din turned. Sure enough, standing in the doorway was a Mandalorian. His armor was faded and slightly damaged, but it was a Mandalorian; there was no doubt of that. Din felt something swell inside him as he greeted him, daring to hope for just a moment that he had a shot now. A real shot at getting the kid back to his kind, of finding more of their people. But then the Marshall removed his helmet, and just like that, that little shard of hope was dashed in a million pieces on the dusty ground of Mos Pelgo. Just like that, Din was alone once more, with nothing but the child, his ship, and his anger. And that anger was threatening to boil over as the thief sat down in stolen armor, poured himself a drink, and smiled at Din. 

It took every fiber of Din's self-control to prevent himself from shooting the man down right there and then. Cobb Vanth clearly knew how thin the ice he was walking on was. He even said as much, and yet the marshal seemed perfectly at ease as he drank. The marshal's deep eyes took in every inch of Din with quiet interest. The scrutiny was not something he was unused to, and yet something about it kept Din fixed in place, staring right back. There was no fear in the glance at all, and when Cobb smiled at him again, it was with a tired sort of affection. It felt almost like a challenge, but it probably wasn't. Vanth must have known that something like this might happen one day, but still, that didn't mean the marshal would go down without a fight. 

Din was well aware he could probably level this town and anyone who challenged him if he killed the marshal now. Hell, given how much time he had wasted coming out here, he was tempted to shoot the man down now. But it didn't seem incredibly wise to ride into this town and shoot their marshal unprovoked, no matter how much he wanted to. So, Din waited. He could see the impatient shift in Vanth's eyes as he looked at him like he was making up his mind. In the meantime, as Vanth looked at Din, Din looked right back. 

Cobb Vanth was a handsome man, but there was an edge to him that intrigued Din. He had seen his share of rogues and thieves during his travels, but it had been a long time since he had seen anyone like Vanth. The facade of the rogue slipped away with every second that they two stood considering one another. Beneath, it was that same pain and loss that Din felt himself. Not for the first time, Din was glad to wear his own helmet. He had never had to master his expression and put on a brave face like Vanth had. 

When the marshal finally rose from his seat, hand coming to rest gently by his blaster, Din was ready. Yet, as they stood there, ready to end one another, Din felt as though something was pulling his hand away from his blaster. He didn't want to kill this man. Not really. So they stood, staring at one another, poised on the edge of violence. Din had no idea how long it was that they stood across from one another. It might have been seconds, it might have been a lifetime, but neither moved.

The arrival of the Krayt dragon broke the spell. Din watched at Cobb's side as the beast vanished back into the sand, leaving behind a path of rubble. He could see the silent pain in the man's eyes as they watched the rest of the town re-build what had been destroyed. With every passing moment, Din was starting to think he had misjudged this man. Several men and women passed them, and Cobb stopped to reassure each of them. They looked to their marshal for hope, and he returned their looks with kindness and reassurance.

Din felt something within him stir at that. His initial anger had ebbed away into nothing. Now, Din Djarin could see unclouded by it, and what he saw was a good man. A man who was deserving of better than what it must be like to live was way out here in the middle of nowhere. A man charged with protecting his people from an enemy that he did not have the strength to face. The armor Cobb had bought was not rightly his, but this man was no thief. He was just a marshal, in too deep for his own good, using whatever he could to protect his people- his clan. If Din understood anything, he understood that.  
"I think we can work something out," Cobb said quietly. His voice was calm and even, but Din could see the silent plea in the other man's eyes. 

Din had offered his services before he could even stop to think twice about what that pledge meant. Never mind that this was a distraction he and the kid didn't need. That it was likely a hopeless endeavor, that in the end, they would probably lose a few too many of the villagers for any victory to be a happy one. It was worth it just to see Cobb smile again, those expressive eyes lighting up with something Din had not seen since he had arrived in the wasteland: hope.


	2. Chapter 2

The child was hungry. The little womp rat was currently chewing on one of Din's gloved fingers in an attempt to get its father's attention. It was a new habit, and the Mandalorian was not a fan. The kid hadn't managed to poke a hole through the thick leather yet, but he had succeeded in drooling all over it. "Hang on," he chided, "I just need one more minute, then we can get you some food." They were back in the little bar, Din looking over a haphazard map of the outer reaches of Mos Pelgo, while Vanth sat across the table from him, cleaning his blaster. They had planned to head out as soon as possible, but a sandstorm had kicked up, delaying their journey to the monster's lair until tomorrow morning. Din was not overly happy about the delay, if only because it meant he had to spend more time sitting in this oddly comfortable silence with the Marshal. 

The Marshal's story had moved him, not that Din would ever admit it. He knew what it was to be many things, and a survivor was one of them. Din snuck a look at the other man, thankful once more for his helmet. The suns were starting to set, and the bright desert light was fading into a dull gold, catching in the older man's greying hair. It was quite a picture. The child released Din's finger and cooed loudly. Cobb looked up from his later meeting Din's eye with a little smile, as if he knew the Mandalorian was looking at him. 

Din turned hurriedly to look at the child instead, immediately realizing that it was somehow more suspicious than if he had just kept on looking. He was acting like a child. Meanwhile, his own child had given up on chewing on his finger and had switched over to making annoyed squeaking sounds. Din sighed, putting the map down on the table. "Alright, alright, I'll get you some food," he said, watching as the child chittered happily. "Little monster," Din grumbled under his breath. Across the table, Cobb laughed, setting his cleaned blaster aside.  
"You two really are some kind of pair, huh?" Drawled the Marshal. Din looked up from the kid and found himself caught once more in those hazel eyes.  
"I really have no idea what you mean,' he deadpanned in response. It had far from the desired effect. Cobb just smiled again, reaching out a finger in the kid's direction. The child toddled over to inspect the foreign digit, ears tilting curiosity.  
"Careful," Din cautioned, "he bites."  
The child didn't bite. Instead, it merely sniffed Cobb's finger before trying to grab it into one of its tiny hands. Despite himself, Din tensed, his free hand drifting towards his own blaster. Of course, he knew that the man had no intention of hurting the kid, but that didn't lessen his anxiety. The Marshal pulled his finger away gently, and much to Din's surprise, the child, chittered in disappointment. However, this quickly changed when after sifting through his pockets for a few moments, Vanth produced a dried piece of something or other and handed it to the child, who immediately started chewing on it. The Marshal smiled, looking up at Din through his lashes.  
"You don't mind, do you? He asked. Din shook his head before turning back to the map. "I always have a bit of something to eat on me," Cobb continued, reaching out to tickle the child behind one of its large ears, "Force of habit. Just in case I find myself stranded out in the desert again." It was clearly a joke, yet the undercurrent of sincerity had the Mandalorian shifting uncomfortably in his seat.  
"Were going to have to go through the sand people's territory," said Din, trying not to watch as the child finished his treat and wobbled closer to the Marshal, probably hoping for another one. "If we run into them, I need you to do as I tell you. I've had dealings with their kind before. If you don't start trouble, there won't be any."  
Cobb snorted. "What makes you think I'll start trouble, Mando? Last time I checked, it was them who raided us, not the other way around." The Marshal's tone was light, but there was steel in it none the less.  
"Two sides to every story, Marshal," Din replied calmly, trying to ignore the sudden impulse he had to watch the way the sunlight reflected in the marshals hazel eyes.  
"Oh yeah," said Vanth, "and what story would that be?"  
Din didn't answer. The question hung in the air for another minute before Cobb laughed, rising from his chair. The child squeaked at the sudden movement. The suns had almost set now, and the lights in the bar were being flicked on. A few patrons had filed inside, and the light hum of conversation filled the previously quiet room. Din recognized a few of them from earlier in the day, but there were some new faces as well.  
"Now," Cobb said, pulling Din's attention back to him. "I know the kid is hungry, and I bet you probably could use some rest after your trip here. It makes no sense for you to go all the way back to your ship, so how about you two come join me for dinner? Then, we can see about finding you two a place to sleep."  
Din was about to refuse, but the child walked across the table toward Cobb, holding out his arms in a familiar gesture.  
Cobb looked at Din for clarification, clearly confused. Din sighed. "He wants you to pick him up," he said, unsure how he felt about it when the Marshal did just that to the kid's delight. Cobb looked back down at Din, eyes bright with silent laughter.  
"Well, I guess that settles it," said the Marshal. "It's a short walk, so you don't need to worry about moving that speeder if you don't want to. Finish up with that, and we'll go wait for you outside." With that, Cobb walked towards the door, the child pointing excitedly at the new faces in the bar. Din was left alone and in a state of mild shock. After a moment, he gathered up the map and followed them out into the chilly desert night. 

They walked quietly through town, shoulder to shoulder. The kid was still enthused, pointing at different stars in the sky, all of which Cobb seemed to know the name of. Din tried his hardest not to fixate on the way the Marshal spoke to the child, in low, hushed tones, as if he didn't want to disturb Din. Din didn't mind. After all his years traveling the black, even he couldn't name all of the constellations and their stories. 

They arrived after a few minutes at one of the many little homes that stretched along the main road. It was a dome, similar to many others here on Tatooine, but when Cobb opened the door, he saw that the house itself was dug further into the ground. "Well, it ain't much," said Cobb as he ushered them in, "but it is home."  
Once they had made their way down the short flight of stairs, Cobb put the child gently on the ground. He cooed loudly in excitement before taking off to explore.  
"Don't worry,' said Cobb reassuringly as he watched Din track the child's movements around the house. "There's nothing in here he could hurt himself with, and all of the weapons I've got are locked up or on me. He'll be fine. Now, let's get you two something to eat."  
Din turned to watch as Cobb made his way into the small living area, stripping off his armor and laying it to rest on the small table before heading into the little kitchen. Somewhat uncertain of what was expected of him, Din stood awkwardly by the door. 

It was always strange being in someone's home. Not that he had been in one for a long time. The razor crest was about as close to home as he had, and even though he loved the ship, it was not designed for comfort. There were traces of Cobb everywhere. A blanket half folded over a little chair, some cards, and a pair of dice on a low table beside various mechanical parts and tools. All the little things came together to paint a picture of a man who lived alone and, no doubt valued the serenity that came with it. No excess, just simple comforts. 

"I know you can't take off your armor, but you could at least sit down and stop lurking in the doorway like some sort of freaky sentinel," Cobb called out from the kitchen. With a sigh, Din followed the sound of the other man's voice into the kitchen, leaving his rifle by the door. The kitchen itself was a spartan as the rest of the house, but no less cozy.  
There was a small table with one chair against the wall, but Din ignored it in favor of leaning in the doorway, arms folded. Cobb was rehydrating some bread and stirring something which admittedly smelled very good in a little pot on the stove. He looked smaller here, without the armor and the swagger that was no doubt expected from him as Marshal. 

Vanth had kicked off his boots and was now walking along the dusty floor barefoot. As if he could feel Din's gaze on him, the other man turned and promptly snorted. "I didn't mean you should come to lurk in this doorway instead," said Cobb. Din didn't answer, and once again was thankful for the helmet, which helpfully hid the flush of color that crept over his cheeks. "Silent treatment," Cobb chucked. "Alright, well, if you insist on acting like a weird statue, Mando, then I'll talk. So given that you can't take off the bucket, I figure the kid, and I will eat, and then I can give you a bowl, and you can eat it in my room if you want. The door locks, and I won't peak, though I must admit," Cobb turned away from the pot he was now stirring to throw Din a wink, "I am mighty curious to know what you look like under there."  
Din paused, weighing his options. It had been too long since he had eaten, and as loath as he was to take off the helmet, whatever it was Vanth had cooking smelled excellent.  
"Alright," he finally replied.  
They returned to their peaceful silence as Cobb put the finish touches on their meal. It was broken only when the kid reappeared. He was not empty-handed. 

Clutched, in his little green fist, was a stuffed Womp rat. The child cooed, clutching the toy close as it waddled towards Cobb.  
"Well, look who it is," the Marshal said with a broad smile. “Found something on your travels, huh little guy?”  
Din reached out to grab the kid but was too slow. "I'm sorry," he said to Cobb hurriedly. Then addressed the child sternly. "Give that back, kid. You can't just go around taking things that don't belong to you."  
Cobb waved a placating hand in Din's direction, kneeling down to sit on the floor with the child. "It's alright! You can have it. I think one of the kids left it here when he came to pick up a component I was fixing up for his mom. It's been here about a month, so clearly, it won't be missed, "he said, reaching out to scratch the kid behind his ear.  
Din crossed his arms once more. "He can't just take things from you. You’re being accommodating enough as it is,” he said. Cobb smiled at him, another blindingly bright smile that warmed something within the Mandalorian's heart.  
"Then I'll give it to him. That way he ain’t taking anything and you don’t have to get your knickers in a twist,” said the Marshal. Cobb looked down at the child fondly, before speaking again, this time a little softer. ”Kids should have toys."  
It was clearly decided because the child ran over to his father to show off his new toy, and all Din could do was pick him up and tuck him in his arms.  
The Marshal rose from the floor, brushing the dust from his knees. "So, Dinner?"  
Din nodded.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little chapter for today. It will potentially be going up in rating and intensity in the next chapter or so. I finally have an actual story arc planned with lots of angst and drama so buckle up, guys! Also, thanks for all the comments. It means so much <3

Dinner was a relatively subdued affair. They had moved out into the living room so that all three of them could sit more comfortably. Well, it had really been Cobb's idea. Din stood stiffly with the child as the marshal had cleared off the low table. The grey-haired man seemed a little flustered, apologizing for the lack of chairs, as he laid out some cushions on the ground before running back to the kitchen. 

Din gingerly sat down on his cushion. It was always a bit of a challenge to do anything in full armor, but he was settled comfortably with the child in his lap when Cobb returned. The child cooed happily at the sight of food, finally letting go of the stuffed toy.

The golden light of the overhead lamps was far more calming and far less clinical than the lights on the Razor Crest. Cobb insisted on making light conversation, and Din answered here and there when he wasn't preoccupied with making sure the child didn't make a mess. While the marshal's home was a little dusty, as everything on Tatooine was, it was still relatively tidy, and Din had no desire to wear out their welcome. The kid had refused to let go of his new toy, which made it significantly more difficult to feed him than usual. It might have frustrated him, but Cobb's subtle amusement and good spirit were, if not contagious, at least mellowing. 

Din bounced the child on his knee absent-mindedly as Cobb continued with a story about the last time he had been to Mos Eisley that Din had only really been half listening to. It wasn't that it didn't interest him, merely that it was easy to be lulled by his own exhaustion and Cobb's lilting voice. It had been so long since anyone had really made an effort to talk to him about anything that wasn't a job, a plan of attack, or the child. Cara had never been one for small talk, and neither were most bounty hunters that crossed Din's path. It was nice. It felt almost domestic, not that Din really had a frame of reference for that. Part of him hoped that maybe the sandstorm would drag out for another day, and they would have an excuse to sit here in Cobb Vanth's cozy living room, listening to pointless stories. That was silly, though. He needed to get off this planet and back on the trail of his kind as soon as possible. They couldn't afford to linger here, no matter how much the child seemed to like it. 

Cobb eventually finished his own meal, collecting the child's empty bowl and hurrying back into the kitchen. The Mandalorian set the child down and watched fondly as the kid made its way over to another one of the cushions sitting on the floor to resume playing with his toy. A moment later, the marshal reemerged from the kitchen with a second bowl and a large glass of water, both of which he offered to Din.  
"Here you take these. My room is back down the hall. If you want, you can take the kid in there with you," Cobb said. "Fair warning, though," he chuckled, "it's a little bit of a mess. I don't usually have anyone here."   
Din nodded, reaching out to take the food carefully. The glass of water was a little overly full, and he nearly sloshed half of it on himself when their hands brushed. 

The Mandalorian had removed his gloves to feed the child and had been almost entirely unaware he hadn't put them back on until that moment. The touch, as brief as it was, sent shock waves through him. Cobb just smiled and continued talking, unaware of the effect their contact had had on Din. "In fact," continued the marshal with a small smile that was a little to coy for comfort, "I can't think of the last time anyone was in that room, but me, bachelor life, you know?"  
Din had no response to that. 

They stood there awkwardly for another long moment. The Mandalorian was suddenly aware of just how close they were standing. Much to his embarrassment, Din felt the proximately so keenly that it was almost distracting. Of course, it wasn't as if there was much space in the little room for them to really be far apart. This close, he could see the little flecks of gold in the other man's hazel eyes.

Cobb, no doubt aware of the scrutiny, laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair, and finally taking a step back. "Well," Vanth said, "while you're busy, I am going to go run out there and check-in with everyone. See if anyone…needs anything. Or something." The marshal sounded strange, almost unsure of himself as he spoke. If Din wasn't currently focused on trying to pull himself together, he might have paused to consider what it was exactly that had the marshal like this. One touch and his mind had been sent spinning. It was ridiculous. He was a Mandalorian, a warrior, not some little school girl. How long had it been, though, since he had felt the touch of someone else's skin on his own? A year, longer? He couldn't quite recall.   
Cobb cleared his throat, pulling the Mandalorian out of his thoughts and back to the intensely awkward situation.   
"I...I understand," Din finally managed to get out, keenly aware of how stiff he sounded. He watched as Cobb shifted his weight from one foot to the other before smiling tensely once more and heading to the door to pull on his boots. Unsure of what to do, Din stood there like some strange statue, food, and drink in hand.   
Cobb finished lacing them up, pausing to grab his coat and throw it elegantly over his shoulders. Din was struck by the grace of the marshal's movements. In another life, Din thought Cobb Vanth would have made one hell of a Mandalorian. 

"Alright, well," said Cobb, "when I get back, I'll just wait out here for you to come out, and then we can see about sleeping arrangements." That settled, Cobb turned and slowly made his way up the stairs. He turned at the door, giving Din a strange heated look before opening it and stepping out into the cold night beyond.   
Din was left alone with the child, still awkwardly clutching his dinner. A moment later, he felt a light tug on his pant leg. Looking down, Din saw the child, still clutching the womb rat, looking first to the door and then worriedly back at his father. Din sighed. "He's coming back, don't worry," he reassured the kid. "The Marshal had to go check on...stuff." Even as the words left his mouth, they sounded unconvincing.   
The child looked slightly less concerned, though, cozying up to his father expectantly.   
"We're in trouble, huh," Din said quietly, more to himself than the kid. The child chittered in what could only be an affirmation, chewing on the toy rat's tail.   
"Yeah," said Din, "a lot of trouble." With another quiet sigh, he and the kid made their way down the small hallway into Cobb Vanth's bedroom.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last fluffy awkward boys chapter before we descend into angst land. I never really intended for this to be a very long fic, but given the plan I have for the rest of the story, I wanted to add one more nice quiet moment before the reality sets in, and things get bad. I hope to have the next chapter out by Sunday at the latest. Thanks again for all of the comments and kudos. I really appreciate it and hope you guys are going to enjoy the rest of the story!
> 
> Also, there have been some new tags added and a new story description. So yeah, hang on cause it's gonna be a bumpy ride <3

By the time Cobb finally returned, Din had finished eating, replaced his helmet, and started in on cleaning up the kitchen. The meals he was used to on the razor crest were normally rehydrated rations, so he never had much to clean up. This was partially by design. When you lived alone, it made little sense to do anything other than the bare minimum. Besides, the galley on his ship was relatively small and cramped. He had made serval attempts at cooking if only to make sure the kid got something better to eat than ration bars, all of which had been disastrous. Thankfully, the child wasn't very picky. 

As Din began cleaning off the dishes, he was slightly uncertain whether he was overstepping his bounds but had decided in favor of it anyway. Cleaning up gave him something to do that wasn't pacing or agonizing over whether or not this was at all a good idea. The promise of claiming the armor in Cobb possession when this was all over had been enough to dissuade the initial hopelessness at this new dead end. They had been searching for so long, and yet he and the kid always seemed to be just one moment too late. If he had been a superstitious man, Din might have thought he was cursed. After all, every road he went down seemed to turn into a dead end. 

Just a few hours ago, he had walked into this town hoping to have found one of his kind. He had been excited and almost a little frightened. Yet, it seemed what he had found here in Mos Pelgo was proving to be far scarier. The kindness Cobb Vanth had shown him since his arrival here was horrifying. It was not that the Mandalorian had not experienced kindness in his life. Kindness had often been rare but never non-existent. The Mandalorians were hard people, to begin with, and a life in hiding had not made them any less so. What he had at the covert was kinship, a bond, but never kindness. When you spent your life living in a sewer like rats, kindness was not an option.

However, to be cared for like this was altogether new. Din had spent so long now caring only for the child that to have someone try and care for him was an alien feeling. Even when he was with people like Cara or hell, even Karga, there was always this feeling of separation. He didn't blame them. It was hard to connect with someone hidden behind multiple layers of clothing and a full suit of armor. This was the way, and over the years, Din had become used to it. So when Cobb Vanth looked at him with those electric eyes and easy smiles, like he saw him, it was almost too much.

Din was drying off the pot when he heard the telltale hiss of the door opening, followed by the sounds of Cobb coming down the short flight of stairs. If his heart rate increased, well, Din had no idea why that would be. The Marshal strolled into the kitchen, looking a little disconcerted at what admittedly must be a very strange sight. It wasn't every day you saw a Mandalorian in full armor doing the dishes.  
"Well," said Cobb, with that same strange spark in his eyes, "I see you found the soap."  
Din snorted, shaking his head slightly before turning back to the pot.  
"I did. You're almost out."  
Cob laughed at that. "I didn't take you for a joker, Mando," said Cobb. "Never judge a book by its cover, I guess. When you're done with that, come out here and give me a hand, will you? I got some extra blankets and a bassinet for the kid." With that, the Marshal returned to the living room, leaving Din alone in the tiny kitchen. 

A few minutes later, Din emerged to find Cobb setting up a pallet on the living room floor. He had pulled together a few blunts and some of the floor cushions as well. All in all, it looked pretty comfortable. The kid watched the Marshal with soft eyes, still chewing on his now mostly drool covered womp rat. Din cleared his throat, and Cobb looked up at him with another gentle smile. "You said something about a bassinet outside," he asked hesitantly.  
Cobb jumped up from the ground, and Din once again tried not to be distracted by the grace of the movement. "Yeah," said the Marshal, "I figured I'd go ask Kerri. She just had a baby a year or so back and had some stuff leftover. She ended up giving me a little too much, and I could barely carry it all back here."  
Din nodded in favor of an actual response and followed Cobb up the stairs and out into the cold night air. 

Outside were, in Din's opinion, an excessive amount of baby things. There was a bassinet, blankets, swaddling clothes, and an assortment of stuffed toys. It was too much. In fact, it was so much that Din wasn't even sure he could fit all of this stuff on his ship if he wanted to. However, when Din tried to say something to that effect, he was stopped by a wave of Cobb's hand. "Don't even start. You're doing us a big favor. Just think of it as a bonus for the job," said the Marshal. Cobb spoke and looked at him with such intense sincerity that Din felt the very sudden and intensely irrational urge to hide. There was more than just gratitude in the Marshal's bright eyes, and it was horrifying.  
Din found himself being pulled into their hazel depths, made even more brilliant by the moonlight. It took him a moment to settle on a reply, and though it was a statement, his answer somehow came out sounding more like a question. "I haven't even done anything yet," he said.  
Cobb shook his head, smiling a little like he was amused by some secret joke. Din found himself wanting to know what it was.  
"Yes, you have," said Cobb, something far away in his expression as he spoke. "You stayed. You could have killed me and walked out of here with the armor and been completely in your right to do so, but you didn't. The way I figure it, that's worth more than anything I have to offer you. Beskar included. So take it. Please."  
For what was far from the first time since he had arrived in this strange little town, Din had no idea what to say. So he nodded before reaching down to collect as much as he could before turning to head back into the house. 

It took two trips, but eventually, they managed to bring in everything Kerri had given the Marshal. The bassinet had been tricky to get down the stairs. Unlike the one he had back on the ship, it didn't levitate, so they had to bring it carefully down the narrow stairs. The child, of course, was ecstatic. Din watched as the little monster waddled as fast as his short legs could carry him towards the pile of toys. Cobb laughed as the little one tried to collect as many as he could in his little hands. Din was not as amused.  
"You can pick out one more to place with tonight," he said sternly, pointing a chiding finger at the kid. "You cannot carry all of them, and it's way too many for you in the first place." The child cooed at him, and Cobb chuckled.  
"Pretty stern parenting there, Mando," said the Marshal, who had removed his overshirt, revealing a thin white undershirt. Din rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, trying not to notice how the Marshal's muscles played under the thing white fabric.  
"I wouldn't have to be stern if you hadn't brought the kid back an entire toy store," he said. Cobb just smiled, flopping down on the makeshift bed and, to Din's surprise, kicking off his boots. As the Marshal made himself comfortable, it became clear what exactly was going on.  
"I am not taking your bed away from you," said Din, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice. It was really starting to be too much.  
Cobb rolled his eyes, folding his arms out behind him and resting his head on his hands. "Ain't a discussion, Mando. Now let me sleep. We have a long ride out tomorrow," said the Marshal, eyes falling closed. He made quite a picture, stetted out on the red cushions in a collection of long, lean lines. If Din wasn't on the verge of dragging Vanth up and locking him in his room, he might have stopped to appreciate it. If Cobb was aware of the withering look Din was giving him through his helmet, he didn't show it. 

"I am not…you can't…this is ridiculous," Din muttered after a moment, not sure if it was even directed at Cobb at this point. The Marshal didn't stir. The low lights of the living room cast soft shadows on his handsome face and the look of perfect peacefulness was almost enough to trick Din into thinking Cobb had indeed fallen asleep. He doubted it, though. More likely, Cobb was playing dead and hoping eventually Din would get tired of standing there staring at him and give in.  
The child yawned, and after a moment, Din was forced to accept defeat. He picked up the bassinet and carried it into the Marshal's room. He locked the door quietly, removing his helmet before he tucked the child in with one of the many newly acquired blankets. As he lay down in Vanth's bed, the child snoring softly in his bassinet, Din was once again overcome with emotion. He wasn't sure what would kill him first, the dragon or this strange Marshal so intent on giving the Mandalorian everything in his power to share. 

He had traveled from one end of the galaxy to the next, hoping that one day he would find more of his people, a place to call home. Yet, as he lay there staring up at the ceiling, he couldn't help but notice this was probably the most at home he had ever felt. But that was silly, he thought. 

Sleep, when it came, was deep, and when he woke to the first light of the two rising suns, Din Djarin felt like a new man. Well, almost.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Happy Sunday <3 Angsty Din is a thing now. Next chapter, we will be taking Din away from Tatooine, but don't worry... it's not permanent. 
> 
> Also, thank you again for all of the comments and Kudos! They really motivate me to keep going, which is much appreciated now that I am, for some reason, writing long-ass chapters.

Din made his way out into the living room, following the sound of the Marshal whistling a cheery little tune as he puttered around the kitchen. The suns had barely risen, and their combined light shone dimly through the narrow skylight above, crowning the grey-haired man in gold. Din was fully dressed and armored, but Cobb looked much the same as he had last night. He had replaced his red overshirt but wore no armor or shoes. Cobb turned to smile at Din, "mornin' hope you slept well," he said, sauntering over towards the Mandalorian. Din stood frozen as the Marshal drew closer, pausing only a few inches away before reaching over Din's head to pull a tin of something from a shelf above. When the Marshal stepped back, with what was most definitely a smirk, heading towards the stove, Din let out a shaky breath he wasn't sure he had been holding in.   
Cobb took out a few spoonfuls of what appeared to be tea and added them to the pot. The smell of warm spices filled the little room.  
"I...did. Thank you, I haven't slept in a proper bed in quite some time," Din finally managed to say. The helmet's soft modulation took a little of the edge from his voice, but not nearly enough for Din's taste. Cobb just nodded, grabbing two mugs from the little drying rack. "I bet," he said, "I doubt you've had the chance traveling all over the galaxy." 

Din was about to reply when the child waddled into the room, saving Din from having to make small talk. However, the child walked right past his father in favor of heading towards the Marshal. Din watched, somewhat perplexed, as the kid indicated that he wanted to be picked up, and Cobb acquiesced, scooping the child up in his free hand before turning to turn off the burner. The child cooed excitedly as Cobb poured two glasses into the waiting mugs, one for himself and one for Din. This was followed by Cobb reaching for yet another jar, adjusting the child so that he sat nestled against his shoulder. The Marshal added a sugar cube to each cup, chuckling to himself as the child pulled at the red scarf around his neck. 

Din watched in quiet awe. He had never pictured himself as a father before, and even now that he was one, he would never say that it came naturally. A part of Din was always worried that he would do the wrong thing or that the child would get sick or lost, sometimes even that he enough for the kid. He was a warrior, and that was what he was good at. Friends, fatherhood, romance, they were all new to him, and the specter of failure always loomed over him. The Marshal held the kid like it was second nature, and something about seeing the two of them there looked right. 

Cobb cleared his throat, bringing Din back to reality. The Marshal was again in front of him, still holding the child, but in his free hand was a cup of tea. Din accepted it with a quiet, "thanks." Cobb beamed, stepping back into the center of the kitchen and out of Din's space.   
"Alright, you take that," said the Marshal, gesturing to the cup, "feel free to get your stuff together for the trip. The kid and I can go out there and pack up the speeders. Yours is still at the bar, I think, so I'll bring it over and meet you outside in a half-hour?"   
Din paused, thinking it over. It wasn't that he didn't trust Cobb with the kid. In fact, it was quite the opposite. It was more that he couldn't remember the last time he had truly had more than a minute completely to himself.  
Cobb, who seemed to be getting better at reading the beskar helm's subtle expressions, eased his mind. "I figured you could use a minute or two by yourself, and that this one," Cobb scratched the child behind the ears as he spoke, "might like to go visit some of the other children," he said softly. That small secret smile was being leveled at him again, and for the life of him, Din couldn't figure out whether he loved it or was afraid of it. The strange, beautiful Marshal stood there holding his child like his own, once again trying to take care of Din in a way that no other really had. 

After a moment, Din nodded, although he was suddenly tempted to pinch himself to make sure this wasn't some sort of bizarre dream. He couldn't completely rule it out. "Yeah, I think it would do him some good to play with other kids. It's been a while," Din admitted, trying not to mirror the smile that spread over Cobb's face. Not that it would matter, it wasn't like the Marshal would be able to see it.   
"Great," said the Marshal, setting the kid down to grab his own tea before heading out into the living room. Din watched from the doorway as the child followed the Marshal up the stairs. "Enjoy the tea," Din heard the grey-haired man call out before the door opened and then closed again, leaving Din alone for the first time in months. 

After a moment, Din made his way out into the living room, ensuring the door was locked before removing his helmet. The tea, when at last, he tasted it, was rich and spicy, and just a little sweet. It filled him with warmth, and as he sat in the Marshal's chair, Din Djarin once again felt nearly at peace. 

Unfortunately, thirty minutes went by quickly, and after he had gathered what few things he and the child had brought, Din finally made his way into the tiny fresher with only about ten to spare. As he caught sight of himself in the tiny mirror, the Mandalorian couldn't help but sigh. He looked like an absolute mess. His dark hair was overgrown, and he desperately needed a shave. Thankfully a short search through the tiny room turned up a pair of scissors and a razor. He set about giving himself a quick trim, and as the timer he had set ran down, Din shaved as fast as he could. 

When this was done, and the mess cleared away, he took one last moment to appraise the man who now looked back at him. It was a marginal improvement. Din no longer looked like a vagabond, but a little voice at the back of his head pointed out that it hardly mattered. It wasn't like anyone, but the child would see him anyway, and even if he had access to the best spa in the galaxy, no amount of help would having him looking anywhere near as good as Cobb. Or good enough for him, said the little voice. Yet, that was it wasn't it? It had been a long time since he had ever wanted to show his face to another. So, he had never really bothered about his hair or anything else to do with his appearance, for that matter. However, despite every rational bone in his body, Din found himself wanting to look good for a man he would leave the minute the Dragon was defeated, and the beskar regained. He was such a fool. 

Din sighed, taking one last look before replacing his helmet. By the time he collected their back and made it up the stairs, Cobb and the child had returned from their little adventure. They made quite a pair, Cobb in his faded armor and Din in his glowing beskar. As they finally sped off into the far reaches of Tatooine, if Din stole a few glances at the man beside him, well, he was only human.

* * *

In the end, it was Din who finally brought the Dragon down. The sand people and the townsfolk fought well, and their bravery was a credit to them, but sometimes it took drastic action to finish things. This had been one of those times. It hadn't necessarily been the easiest fight, but it was over, and that's what counted. The child watched with his large eyes as Din loaded up a large chunk of the Dragon onto the speeder bike. He had no idea if it would be any good at all, but worst case, he could sell it back in Mos Eisley to whoever was interested. It never hurt to have a few extra credits lying around, especially with ex-imperials on your trail. His thoughts darkened slightly at the thought. It hadn't been long since finally left Navarro before Cara commed him to inform him of the Moff's survival. Din knew it was only a matter of time before they finally crossed paths again, and he had hoped to have at least one more Mandalorian at his back when that day came. 

Din sighed, pushing the thought from his mind. They had fought hard, and there was no use worrying about Gideon right now. No, he would save that for when he returned to the Crest and had time to think. Instead, he turned his thoughts towards the now. 

They had lingered here long enough that no doubt Peli would have turned up his ship by the time Din returned. Then, he and the kid would most likely spend a few more hours in Mos Eisley to re-supply. He wasn't sure where to go next after that. With the trail of other Mandalorians running cold, he was right back where he started: alone. 

Not too far from him, Din could hear Cobb talking to someone, his comforting drawl catching on the wind. They were close enough that all Din had to do was look up, and there Cobb would be, smiling no doubt, with the desert breeze catching his hair and a sparkle in his eyes. Din couldn't bear to look. 

The past days he had found himself looking at the Marshal more than was strictly necessary. Half of the time, he turned to find Cobb looking right back at him, with a soft smile playing on his thin lips. He had found himself pulled into Cobb's orbit with every passing moment during their trip into the desert with the sand people. To deny the pull he felt would be impossible, but after they had fought the Dragon, flying together like they were one and the same, it was almost too much. Never in his life had he experienced anything like it. Even trained Mandalorians, sworn into the creed, had never anticipated his movements that well. Yet, Vanth fought like an extension of Din, always falling right into place. It was more than that, though. It was the kind words and the quiet smiles. The way the child had waddled over to Cobb the morning before their departure, demanding to be scooped up into the grey-haired man's arms as he made a pot of tea, whistling some strange tune. The way the Marshal gritted his teeth and stood his ground to defend the sand people from the heated villagers. It was everything about him. Worst of all, it was that no matter how much he longed to, Din couldn't bridge that distance. He couldn't march over and tell the Marshal that they would stay, couldn't take off his helmet, and settle down here in the burnt-out town. That he couldn't spend the rest of his days drinking hot spiced tea and looking at the constellations all night, listening to Cobb tell him all of their stories.

So, instead of looking at what he could never have, Din Djarin settled for once again, reorganizing the various things he had packed onto the speeder. Din told himself that it was to make sure the suspension didn't get messed up, but deep down, he knew he was just buying more time. A few more minutes in the Marshal's orbit before he found himself drifting in the black one more time. 

The last pack he secured to the speeder behind the child was packed to the brim with as much of the kid's new things as possible. In the end, Din had let the kid pick his three favorite toys and had packed them along with some of the blankets and a few of the clothes. Unsurprisingly the Womp rat had made the list, followed by a bantha and, much to Din's exasperation, a stuffed R2 unit. They had been forced to leave behind the rest of it, although Cobb had promised to hang on to them in case they ever came back to Mos Pelgo. The way he had smiled, so sadly, as he said it, it was clear to Din that the Marshal knew that this was probably goodbye. That hadn't stopped Din from agreeing and thanking him, trying not to notice the profound sadness he felt at the admission. 

He was finally covering up the hunk of meat with a scrap of canvas when he felt more than heard the Marshal approach. Din took a deep breath, forcing himself to look up from his task. He was met with a warm smile from the Marshal, who stood somewhat stiffly, holding Din's reward.  
Of all of the things he expected to find himself saying as Cobb placed the armor down on the bike, "Sorry, I didn't have time to explain," was not one of them. The Marshal, however, took it in stride, handing over the helmet.   
"No, need. This was well earned," said Cobb, the softness of his tone enough to make Din's heart threaten to break several times over. Sure, he had left before. It was his way, but Din couldn't remember a time it had ever felt like this.   
"It was a pleasure," he replied, unsure of what else to say. It was the truth, at the very least, maybe more truthful than anything he had said in a while. It had been a pleasure, although it was one he didn't deserve in the slightest. When Cobb extended his hand, Din took it, both thankful for and frustrated by the barrier of his thick gloves.   
"I hope our paths cross again," said Cobb, still holding Din's hand as if he was loath to let it go.   
"So do I," Din replied, and he meant it. He meant it with every fiber of his being, even though he knew it probably would never happen. So, the Mandalorian held Cobb's hand tightly, taking one last look into those bright eyes, trying to catalog every detail of the Marshall's face.   
In the end, it was Cobb who pulled away, and Din felt the loss immediately. 

Cobb started to walk away and then turned as if thinking better of it. "Oh," said the Marshal, gesturing to the dent in the Helmet Din's still clutching like it was a rock in a stormy sea. "You tell your people that I wasn't the one that broke that," Cobb said, and then with another little smirk, the Marshal turned and stored away, back towards his people and his life in Mos Pelgo, and away from Din. The Mandalorian watched as he went and certainly didn't feel a little as though his one chance at some sort of happiness was walking away from him. And so, he kicked the speeder into gear and headed back into the desert, trying his best not to feel like he was running away. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! The next chapter is half-way finished, so hopefully, I will have it out very very soon. If you think this is dramatic, buckle up! As always, thank you for the comments and kudos. 
> 
> Side note:  
> I will be doing a proofread/typo sweep of the fic hopefully tomorrow so if you see an update and no chapter, that is what that is.

_Three years later._

Din's heart was pounding. Under his helmet, he could feel the sweat dripping down his brow as he leaned against the trunk of a large tree, trying hopelessly to catch his breath. At his side, he could hear Cara shouting something into her comm over the noise of the battle currently raging around them. The forest was filled with the sound of blaster fire and the roar of jetpack engines. Screams and thuds as bodies hit the mossy forest floor. The smell of blood and death hung in the air. An oppressive haze that brought back memories best kept away. Din let his eyes fall closed, breathing in deeply as they prepared for what might be the end. At least if he died, it would be a proper warriors' death. 

In the end, Din had only found Vizsla and a few others, remenants of the Nevarro covert, along with several who had escaped Moff Gideon at other coverts around the galaxy. Nevarro had not been the only place the Moff had an attack, carrying out whatever strange vendetta he had for Din's people. Years had passed since Din had first found the child, and yet the Moff had not stopped his search, and just as it had back when he first took the kid, it had made every Mandalorian unlucky enough to be spotted above ground a target. 

After leaving Tatooine behind, Din had resumed his search for his people, unfortunately to little avail. He had traversed the whole of the galaxy, following every rumor he could, but had always arrived just one minute too late. It was Cara Dune who stumbled across them on Endor by chance, hiding from a new republic patrol after a job gone wrong. 

Seconds after receiving the message from Cara, Din had picked up and cranked the Crest into full gear as fast as could for Endor. He had arrived to find what remained of his kin, hunkered down, and looking for a fight. Paz, strangely enough, had been almost happy to see him. Din supposed that living on the run would do that to you- make you miss things you never thought you needed in the first place. Despite himself, Din found himself returning the gesture when the giant Mandalorian clasped his forearm and welcomed him back as a brother. Whatever hatred they might have felt for one another was gone now. Vizsla was the guardian of this ramshackle clan of survivors, and Din was a father. 

They were well aware that their time was running out, even as the Mandalorian's listened to Din's tale and gazed in subtle curiosity at the strange little child who sat idly in his father's lap. Apparently, the story had circulated through what few coverts remained, and even now, despite everything, Din was relieved to see that they understood. The guilt of Nevarro had been a heavy burden, but this was the way. Mandalorians were born to fight, to protect, not to run when danger came knocking. So, they shared their stories, and when night fell, they prepared for battle. 

Paz had been the one to tell Din about the darksaber. Even with the modulator, Din could hear the simmering anger in the other man's voice as he spoke of his ancestral heirloom in the hands of Gideon. Din would be lying if he said the weapon didn't trouble him. It didn't matter how many foot soldiers or how much tech they took out; in the end, it would come down to Gideon, and the saber complicated that quite a bit. There was no way of knowing whether Gideon's proficiency with the weapon was enough to pull off any of the legendary Jedi tricks. Privately, Din doubted it. If the Moff had any of the powers of his ad'ika, he would have used them by now. Still, Din didn't believe in underestimating an enemy. Even if he could get close enough for a clean shot, there was a genuine chance that Din didn't walk out of there alive. Never the less, it was a risk he had to take if it meant that ad'ika would be safe. That was all that mattered.

As the remnants of Navarro and the former rebel soldier watched the sunrise, they did so with weapons at the ready, in serene silence. The child had been tucked away in the deepest hall of their fort, protected by a Mandalorian guard. As much as Din wished his child could be somewhere far away from here, right now, that was the safest place on the whole moon. Once the sun had risen, the forrest moon would be drenched in blood. All knew that Gideon would strike them with everything he had. Gideon had not disappointed. 

"Din," Cara yelled, shaking him back to reality. "Din, we have to try it now, or it'll be too late. Gideon's exposed. Paz and the rest are going to hit him hard as they can, so we can sneak through and flank him." There was blood splattered across her face. Thankfully it wasn't her own. 

Din nodded, bracing himself to return to the fray. A few yards away, there was an explosion, and some of the rapid firing ceased. That was good, one less thing to worry about.

"Paz must have taken out the AT-ST," said Din as he pulled his pulse rifle over his shoulder, exchanging it for a smaller blaster. Cara smiled. "Took him less time than it took us too, huh, Din?" she laughed breathlessly. 

Din smiled, shaking his head. "Well, he had slightly better help." With that, they took off through the trees, running as fast as they could towards the sound of the battle ahead. A few guards shot at them, but they were neither fast enough nor accurate. Din felled them with ease. It was only a few moments before they caught sight of Moff Gideon through the lush foliage. 

Gideon stood patiently, almost at ease in the center of the clearing. If Din hadn't known better, he would have thought he was waiting for him. The Moff turned, saber in hand, and already ignited. "Ah, Din Djarin," he said cooly, "I have been looking for you for quite some time. Where is the child? If you give him to me, I see no reason why this bloodshed needs to continue." The way the Moff said it, so carelessly, as if the sounds of his soldiers being slaughtered around him was nothing, set Din's teeth on edge. As the Moff gracefully changed his guard, the hum of the saber was distinct, unlike anything Din had ever heard before.

"Well," asked the Moff in that humorless drawl, "What is your answer, Djarin? I won't wait all day." 

Din's answer was a blaster bolt aimed between Gideon's eyes. However, to his frustration, Gideon was able to deflect it with the saber. Although, to Din's satisfaction, it was relatively close. The Moff had clearly practiced with the saber, but he could not fight with it instinctually as Din had feared he might be able to. That was good. It meant Din had a fighting chance. Din knew he wouldn't come out of this completely unscathed, but he was quick and had years of narrow scrapes on his side. The Mandalorian doubted the Moff had ever been in a real fight. 

The Moff, taking Din's stillness for panic, laughed. It was as cold and humorless as the rest of him. "You're going to have to kill me, Djarin. You know that, don't you? It's the only way you'll ever be able to keep that child away from me. Do you think you can do it?" sneered Gideon. 

Din looked at the Moff evenly through his visor, calculating before with a heavy sigh he lowered his blaster, sheathing it in the holster at his side. The Moff, misinterpreting the action for acceptance of defeat, smiled now. "I always knew you couldn't be reasonable. You and your friends had little chance to begin with," said Gideon as the sound of stormtrooper boots rumbled towards them.

At his back, Din could hear Cara turn to fire at a new round of approaching imps. He didn't allow himself to look, though. Cara had faced worse, and Din knew that she would have his back until the bitter end. Instead, he let the Moff gloat, using that valuable time to plan his attack. Overconfidence in an opponent never meant anything but more time to Din think. 

The Moff didn't wear a helmet, but clearly, he was decent enough to deflect blaster bolts with the darksaber. That left a straight fight, although Din was uneasy about getting within range of that blade. If it could cut through metal, it could cut through his armor, although the strength of the beskar might make it somewhat more challenging. Din studied his opponent's stance. It was alright, but a little too sloppy, which was yet another thing in his favor. 

Sadly, his scrutiny had revealed one more detail. Din had missed it in the heat of the moment, but now, in this strange pause, Din recognized the familiar glimmer of the Moff's black armor. Gideon was wearing Beskar. The realization lit a fire of pure hatred inside him that until not had never been matched. There was no doubt in Din's mind. It had been stripped, no doubt, from the cold body of one of his tribe, one of his creed who had fallen fighting the evil of the empire. Gideon had stolen it, mutilated, perverted it. 

As Din Djarin reached towards the vibro-blade at his side, his focus narrowed even further. He felt the familiar weight of the knife in his grasp. There was one silver lining to the abomination that was the Moff's armor. It hadn't been correctly fastened. That meant that were inevitable vulnerabilities. Weak points art the neck, ankles, and tendons left unprotected by the plates. 

"What do you say, Djarin," the Moff yelled, clearly growing tired of the silence. "Can you do it? Or will you die just like all the others of your kind?"

Din smiled savagely under his helmet, tightening his grip on the knife in his gloved hand. "Let's find out," he growled before lunging at the Moff with everything he had. 

He had practically closed the distance before Gideon had time to react, swinging the black blade in a smooth arc. However, the Moff was a second too late. Din had crouched down, neatly avoiding the blade of the darksaber, which in his haste Gideon had aimed too high. As the Moff cut through nothing but air, Din had slid past, sliding his knife through the thing fabric protecting his opponents' ankle. With a howl, Gideon fell to his knee. In the shock and intensity of his pain, the Moff wheeled around, just grazing Din's side with the saber. 

It burned, but Din ignored the pain, pushing himself quickly out of range of the Moff's second swing. With his remaining strength, Din conjured all the force he could muster and sprang forward. Years of training, years of fighting told him that now was when Gideon would be at his most dangerous. A wounded animal that knew it was already dead but was determined to take their hunter with them. Howling in anguish, Gideon swung again, trying desperately to turn and face the Mandalorian. He wasn't fast enough, and as Din plunged his knife deep into the open stretch left at the Moff's neck where the armor had been incorrectly fastened, the loss of blood relaxed his hand, and the dark saber fell to the mossy ground. 

Time seemed to stand still. Din found himself frozen too in this strange tableau as the Moff sputtered, blood running down his stolen beskar armor. The wound at his side felt like it was on fire, but Din didn't care. It was done. He had won, and his child was safe. Din pulled his knife free, staggering back as the Moff fell dead before his feet. Suddenly, the ground seemed unsteady beneath him. The Mandalorian gave in to the wave of exhaustion that swept through him, falling to his knees on the forest floor. The world seemed was blessedly silent, the sounds of combat falling away into nothing. 

The child was safe. 

The light seemed to dim, and in the distance, he could hear someone calling his name. It wasn't Cara or Paz, though. Instead, it was a voice he hadn't heard in so long. The deep, musical voice that had haunted him for all these years, until it had become almost too much to take. Somewhere just out of his field of vision, Din could hear him whistling that familiar tune. It spun around him like it was caught on the cool breeze of Tatooine night. A teasing dance that cut him more profoundly than any knife could.

Din reached out a gloved hand, but there was nothing there. Cobb Vanth was a thousand worlds away, and Din was alone as he always was. Then, just like that, the light faded, the music stopped, and Din Djarin fell with a heavy thud to the ground. 

* * *

Din woke to the familiar sound of Ad'ika cooing gently. When at last, he opened his eyes, he found this little one perched on his father's chest, looking down at him worriedly as he chewed on the now thoroughly destroyed remnants of his womp rat. Din sighed, reaching out a hand to scratch the child behind a large green ear. 

He heard someone move at his side, rising from whatever corner they had been sitting in. It was Cara. For the first time he had seen her, she wasn't wearing armor. Instead, she wore a pair of thick pants and a heavy jacket, her short hair tied back from her face.

She smiled at him, scooping the child off his chest so Din could sit up comfortably. He managed it with relative ease, although suddenly very aware of the strain in his side as he did so. A look down revealed several large bandages covering in what appeared to be bacta. 

"How long," he asked, trying not to let the tension he felt bleed through the modulator. 

"About three weeks. You got pretty roughed up, and it was easier to sedate you and make sure the wound healed up better. They had to do some major reconstruction, not mention removing the melted beskar," she said matter of factly, bouncing the child on her knee. 

Din sighed again, leaning back into the pillows behind him. He normally had no desire to be incapacitated, but given the extent of the damage, it had probably been for the best. "So," he said dryly, "what you're saying is, I'm not going to be winning any beauty pageants in the near future?" 

Cara laughed at that, a real joyful laugh. "You're insane, Din Djarin. Absolutely out of your mind," she said, before rising to place the child back in his father's open arms. 

"I'll leave you two be. I guess you'll be on your way soon," she said with a knowing look. "When you feel well enough to go, come get me so I can at least say goodbye to the monster. In the meantime, Paz will want to see you. I think he has something to give to you," Cara finished, heading towards the low door. 

"Cara," he called out before she could exit into the hall beyond. She turned. "Thank you for everything. You fought...you fought like a true Mandalorian," said Din. Cara nodded solemnly, clearly recognizing the sincerity and significance of the compliment. 'Thanks, Din," she said solemnly before heading out into the covert, leaving Din alone with a very clingy Ad'ika. 

"So, little one," said Din as he pulled the child close to him, "think he'll take us back after all this time?" The child cooed in response, and Din smiled. 

"Yeah, I hope so too."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hye guys! So we are getting more intense in this chapter, just a heads up. There is a little bit of violence in this chapter but not likely overly explicit. So I have decided to add a slight content warning:
> 
> Someone gets shot, and then the wound gets stepped on, but other than that, not anything too graphic.

As Din fired up the Razor crest, he was intensely aware of the new weight of the darksaber at his side. Paz had, along with the remainder of their little tribe, decided that it was Din's by right. The logic was sound enough. After all, he had been the one to strike down Gideon. Even so, for a foundling to wield a weapon of such significance seemed strange to Din. How strange it was that even now, he felt as though he were not good enough, not a true Mandalorian. His whole life, he had existed on the fringes, first within his tribe and then as a bounty hunter. He was a drifter, belonging to nothing and no one except the creed. Din may be a Mandalorian, but he couldn't claim to be a child of Mandalore. He had lost his parents to the violence of the empire, but Paz had seen his whole planet fall during the purge. The pain was one all of the covert had shared, all except for Din, who had never felt it was his place. How could Din mourn the loss of something that had never been his in the first place? And so, try as he might, Din had never felt like he belonged despite words of the armorer or anyone else for that matter. Perhaps it was that lingering feeling which staid his hand when Paz presented him with the darksaber. 

He had put little stock in the force before Ad'ika, but the skepticism had fallen away the minute the little one had raised the Mudhorn. Yet there was no denying the weapon's power. Even now, the Mandalorian could feel the pulse of energy that seemed to emanate from the blade within even when retracted. Din had no desire for such a weapon. He much preferred his rifle and a good blaster, but perhaps, one day, when his child was ready, it would make a fine gift. Something to remind Ad'ika that whether he could use Jedi magic or not, he would always be a member of Din's clan of two. A Mandalorian in spirit, if not in name. 

In the heat of the moment, Din had been so shocked as the giant Mandalorian knelt down to hand him the weapon that he had barely managed to speak. Paz had groaned in frustration when Din hadn't immediately accepted the offering. If he had not been still recovering from his injuries, Din was relatively sure Paz might have shaken him in frustration. "Oh come on, Djarin," the giant Mandalorian had said gruffly. Din tried to keep himself from tensing and preparing for the fight that so often accompanied this tone from Paz. However, instead of a fist or a knife, all that came was a heavy sigh. "For once in your life, Djarin, don't be difficult. The others want you to have it. I do, as well. You earned it, even if you nearly got yourself and all of us killed in the process," Paz huffed. Despite the usual exasperation, there was a hint of sincere admiration in Paz's voice, which brokered no discussion.   
Deciding it would be wise not to risk refusing this honor, Din had nodded silently before finally taking the hilt. With a sigh of relief, Paz had risen, giving Din a courteous tip of his helmet before leaving the room. Din didn't try to stop him. Letting Paz go in amicable silence was probably for the best given their history. Even now, with Gideon defeated and a chance at some semblance of safety, Din highly doubted their friendly truce would last more than a week if push came to shove. Just one in the long list of reasons why he yearned to get back to his ship. At the top of the list, of course, was the man waiting for him on Tatooine. 

This time, with no fear of the Krayt dragon or finding nothing more than a plot of empty sand, Din charted a course straight for Mos Pelgo. As the coordinates locked in, he tried not to let the nervous excitement he felt get the better of him. When with a quiet beep, the ship's computer confirmed their destination, Din made his way down the ladder and into the main hull. He winced slightly as the movement pulled at his bandages and the slowly healing flesh beneath. His side had healed relatively well, but it would be some time still before Din returned back to some semblance of normal. He would bear the scars of his fight with Gideon for the rest of his life. Not that it mattered to him. Din had plenty of scars already. What was one more? 

He strolled over to the sleeping compartment, taking a quick peek inside. Thankfully, the child was still sound asleep, which bought him a few hours or so to himself before they arrived. Din removed his helmet and stripped down to take a rushed sonic shower. It was a step down from the water showers he had enjoyed at the new Endor covert, but refreshing none the less. Shower completed, he found himself in front of the one tiny mirror he owned, trying to trim back his hair and shave the rough beard that had grown in the past few months. It was a bit of a task as his infirmary time had not really allowed for more than rest. He collected a sizable pile of dark hair, tossing it into the tiny bin, quite pleased with the result. Despite his injuries, a few weeks of forced rest seemed to have done him good. The heavy bags which were so often under his eyes were gone, and he looked almost calm.

Din dressed slowly in some of the new clothes he had procured before leaving the covert. His usual underclothes had been torn to shreds in the fight, so Din was forced to procure new ones. They had not had any of his favorite muted brown, and so he found himself in a pair of trousers and matching overshirt in a deep blue that was in no way appropriate for camouflage. He reasoned that after a week in the Tatooine dust, they would be back to brown anyway. 

Din reset his armor over the clothes, fastening the scraped but still glowing besker over his new cape, before stepping back to observe the man reflected before him. Unlike this old cape, this was a purple so intense that it looked almost black and had not a single frayed hem or tear to be seen. It had, strangely enough, been a parting gift from Cara. Where she had gotten it, Din hadn't the faintest idea. The rebel shock trooper had given it to him with a knowing look as they said farewell in front of the Crest. Something about her expression had Din feeling incredibly uneasy, a sensation only heightened when she finally spoke, pressing the cape into his gloved hands with a smile.   
"Whoever he is," Cara had said, eyes glittering, "I hope he knows what he's getting into. It's not every day you get proposed to by a Mandalorian with a magic sword and a fifty-year-old kid." 

Din had simply stood there frozen, shocked into silent confusion, awkwardly holding her parting gift. A million thoughts passed through his head at light speed, all of them as equally unlikely as the next. After all, there was no way Cara could have any ideas what his plans or about Cobb for that matter. Din hadn't told anyone about the Marshal or Mos Pelgo, how he had waited for the day he could return, and every second since he'd left had been agony. The child still couldn't speak, so it was unlikely he had ratted him out. Truly Din had no idea how on earth the woman could know what he was planning to do. So, he decided to proceed with caution in case this was some sort of strange joke.   
"I…I have no idea what you are talking about," Din replied lamely, trying to sound nonchalant but failing spectacularly.

Cara burst into a fit of laughter, doubling over with eh force of it. Din stood there, stock still, for several minutes before the former shock trooper finally pulled herself together. She smiled at him, wiping an actual tear from her eyes as she shook her head in exasperation. "Don't bother lying, Din. You're so bad at it. Besides, you talk in your sleep," she said cheerily.   
"I absolutely do not," he grumbled, which had only succeeded in provoking another fit of laughter.   
"You absolutely do," she cried, "Maybe it was an effect of the pain medication, but you had a lot to say about dreamy eyes and constellations. Seriously never would have taken you to be such a romantic."  
This time, Din was smart enough to hold his tongue. They stood there for another moment. Cara eventually realized she wouldn't be getting an answer. She shook her head, clasping his shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze. "Fine, keep your secret. For what it's worth, I wish you all of the happiness in the galaxy. You deserve it. You and the kid," she said. Then, with a mock salute, she turned and made her way back to the base, leaving Din standing alone before his ship with a new cape and a bemused smile beneath his helmet. 

Din tried to spend the rest of their trip to Mos Pelgo cleaning up and performing what little housekeeping he needed to, but eventually gave up. It was relatively hard to clean when all he could think about was what to say to Cobb after so long. "I'm back" didn't seem to quite cut it, and "I just couldn't stop thinking about you" was also a bit much. After all, it wasn't like Din knew that Cobb felt the same. There had been a spark between them, but that had been three years ago now. It was a possibility that in his absence, Cobb had found someone else. Although, that didn't really bear thinking about. For a moment, he had worried that perhaps the Marshall might have left, but that he eventually dismissed as silly. Cobb was the Marshal, and there was no way he would abandon the people of Mos Pelgo. Now all that was left was deciding a plan of attack. 

By the time the navigation system informed him they had arrived at Tattoine, Din still had no idea what to say when he saw Cobb Vanth again. Dressed in his newly shined armor, Din returned to the cockpit to set the ship down outside of town. The suns had recently set, and now the only light came from the millions of stars above. He decided to leave Ad'ika tucked away in his compartment, wanting, perhaps a little selfishly, to have this moment just for himself and the Marshal. They were far too close to town for the Jawas to strip his ship, and the Krayt Dragon was dead, so it didn't feel like much of a risk. The kid was snoozing away with his stuffed toys anyway, and as soon as he found Cob, Din would return for him. 

As he stepped through the bay door and onto the sandy ground, the stillness around him was profound. As the cargo bay door slid shut with a hiss, Din found himself shifting uneasily. All was silent, save for the whisper of the desert wind as it whistled across the endless dunes. There was no sound of generators slowly humming, no drunken revelers leaving the little bar further in town, not a single voice, only silence. Something was not right. 

Being careful to do so quietly, Din drew his blaster, switching his sensors to infrared. Again, he was met with nothing but the cold emptiness of Mos Pelgo. There were no tracks, no signs of life at all. He made his way quickly through the town towards Cobb's little house. The only thing that kept him from running was decades of training. Just because he wasn't picking anything up didn't mean that the village was empty. If something was lurking in Mos Pelgo, it would not do to alert it of his presence. The streets were empty, and not a single light was on as he passed through the main road. 

Din stopped at the open door of the bar, peering inside, hoping against all odds that he was mistaken about what he would find inside. He wasn't. Not only was there not a soul in sight, but the interior had also been destroyed. The table at which he and Cobb lay splintered on the ground, and the interior was covered with the scorch marks of blaster fire. Din tried to push back the tide of rising dread within him as he surveyed the damage. There were no bodies, at least. It meant that some of them might be alive.   
Din pushed on, heading as quickly as he could towards the Marshal's home. When at last he arrived at the little house, it was all Din could do to keep it together. The door had been blown in, and through the opening, he could see the destruction within. He descended into the quiet house, blaster drawn and trained in front of him. It was empty.

Cobb's home looked like it had been hit by a hurricane. The furniture had been toppled, and the shelves stripped. There was no sign of the Marshal. Din searched through the wreckage, praying to every god he knew that he would not find Cobb Vanths body buried under all this mess. But his prayers were answered. Wherever the Marshal was, it wasn't here. Din fell back against the wall, trying to recover his breath. It came in deep, ragged gasps. They were all gone. Cobb was gone. Someone or something had come through and taken him, along with the rest of the village. There were no graves, no bodies, just the remains of what looked like an attack, and Din hadn't been here to stop it. The guilt and anguish came in waves almost too profound to bear, but he had to. Din Djarin was a hunter. The best hunter. If they were alive to be found, he would find them. 

What struck Din more than anything, when at last he had evened out his breathing, was the dust. It covered everything, just as it had in the bar. This destruction wasn't recent by any means. It must have been a few months, at least. Anger simmered within him as he made his way back out into the cold night. 

He strode back towards the Razor crest, rage moving his thoughts towards action. They would go to Mos Eisley first and see if Peli had any news. If there had been an attack, maybe she would know something. Din didn't think it was the sand people. After all, it seemed unlikely given the climate when he had departed that the villagers and the tuskens couldn't get along. The Crest was back in his sight when a rustle of motion near the hull stopped Din in his tracks. 

Din switched his view back to infrared and was met with a figure, lurking at the edge of his ship, assessing it. It looked human enough, but at this range, he couldn't tell. The Mandalorian stalked closer, careful to keep his steps feather-light. Whoever it was, they clearly hadn't realized they weren't alone. He had nearly closed the distance when his quarry, busy trying to set something to the cargo bay door, finally noticed him.   
"Stop," Din growled. The figure, a man, by the look of him, froze and then in what was a spectacularly idiotic move, ran. 

The quarry made it a yard before Din brought him down with a blaster bolt to the leg. The scream was deafening in the silence of this ghost town, but Din hardly cared. He strode over to the fallen man, turning him over with his boot, before training his blaster once more. Closer now, Din took a moment to inspect the quarry. He was a younger man, dressed in reddish clothes, with a familiar insignia on his sleeve. Something about the symbol struck Din, although he couldn't remember where he had seen it before.  
"What happened here? Where is the Marshal," Din growled down at the man. There was no immediate answer, so Din employed a different tactic. He pressed his boot into the open wound, not relishing in the cry of agony the man emitted.   
"What happened," Din tried again, "Who did this? Answer me, and I'll let you go." 

The man's eyes grew wide with fear and pain as the moonlight illuminated them, bringing the details of Din's armor into relief. Whoever he was, the man must know enough to fear a Mandalorian, especially an angry one. When he spoke, it was in sputtered huttese. "Don't hurt me. I'm just a scout. Please I-"  
Din cut him off roughly. "A scout for who? What happened here. Tell me now before I lose my patience."  
The man nodded frantically.   
"The Red Key," he cried out. "I work for the Red Key syndicate. I saw a ship land. I'm supposed to report if anyone shows up." The man was frantic, clearly horrified, but Din couldn't bring himself to care. 

Din removed his boot, stepping back. Beneath his helmet, his face was twisted in the pain of the realization of what must have happened. It was as Cobb had said. The town had been kept safe by his efforts. His efforts, and the armor. How long had it been since his departure when the Red Key had tried again? How long had it been before they realized that once again, Mos Pelgo was vulnerable and that its people were ripe for the taking. Had it been a month? Two? A year? The only certain thing was that Din was responsible. He had left them without defense and they had paid dearly for it. They had seen him as a savior, Cobb Vanth had too, and in the end, he had been all of their doom. 

The ragged breathing of the scout brought him back to reality, hardening his heart. The man's clothes were light enough for Din to see that scout or not, the fabric was covered in splatters of something he knew quite well. Blood. 

When Din spoke again, it was in a low and dangerous tone. "Where is the marshal, the people that were here?"   
The man sputtered, and Din could see the indecision in his eyes. Clearly, the man feared what happened should his masters discover he had given Din information. The Mandalorian could fix that. He lowered his blaster, placing it carefully into his holster. The relief that crossed the other man's face was only momentary.   
It was replaced by wide eyes horror as Din withdrew the dark saber from beneath his cloak, igniting it with a satisfying click. The hum of the black blade soothed the fires of hatred he felt threatening to boil over within him. 

Din lowered the blade so that it rested centimeters from the scout's face. The heat that it emitted must have been unbearable, and yet the scout did not move, frozen in panic.   
"Now," said Din icily, "how about we try that again. Where are they?"   
As Din had expected, the hum of the darksaber proved to be more convincing than he ever could be.   
"The people were taken as slaves. for the mines-"  
"And the marshal," Din prompted, "Cobb Vanth, is he with them."   
The scout tried to shake his head but thought better of it as the blade in Din's hand lowered just a fraction closer.   
"He's not with them," the man gasped, voice shaking. "They keep him in the fortress. If you want to find him you'' have to go there. Please-"   
"Where is it," Din asked quietly.   
"Two days from here, due west," the scout stuttered. "Now please-"   
He didn't get to finish the sentence. 

Din left the body in the sand, heading back towards the Crest. The door slid open and then shut behind him as he made his way to the cockpit. When Ad'ika woke and joined his father in the tiny cockpit, Din held the child close. Those giant brown eyes stared up at him, simultaneously loving and knowing in a way that nearly brought Din to tears.   
"What did I do," he asked the little one. Ad'ika did not answer. Instead, he reached out to lay a reassuring hand on his father's chest- over his heart. 

With a heavy sigh, Din covered the little hand with his own. They sat like that until the ache in Din's heart had dulled to something bearable, and the rage within him no longer blinded him. Then, Din placed his child in the seat beside him and set their new course: west.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this chapter. It took a lot out of me so that it may be a few days before the next one. I really hope you guys are liking the story and if you are please drop a comment and a kudos! I am trying to respond to all of them, but if I don't get around to it, know I love reading all of them! 
> 
> Also, yes, Din is really not the best at dealing with his anger and emotions.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! I am so sorry for the delay. I have been so busy, but I finally managed to crank out this chapter! I hope you guys love it. Thanks once again for your comments and kudos. They are what has kept me going with this.

The fortress the syndicate had built for themselves on Tatooine was no rival to the Hutt's in Mos Eisley, but it was somewhat impressive none the less. The large building was built into the thick red rock overlooking the mines where the residents of Mos Pelgo had no doubt been taken. It was a reasonably defensible position, although Din noticed several weaknesses even from this distance, as he surveyed through the scope of his rifle. For one thing, they didn't seem to have any patrols. Yes, he had seen a few guards posted at towers near the mines, but those were no doubt to keep the slaves from running off. Other than that, there was virtually no perimeter at all, which left them wide open for an attack.

Din had been relatively careful, of course, leaving his ship at a distance and coming closer on foot to avoid detection. He had expected at least a lookout, but even that didn't seem to be a priority. The Mandalorian had been watching them for over an hour since he arrived, and not a single lifeform or even a droid had seemed to notice. Din almost laughed at the arrogance. They clearly weren't expecting any sort of attack whatsoever. Hell, he thought, the windows to the fortress weren't even fully covered, leaving huge gaps where any half-competent marksmen could effect maximum damage from a safe distance. Were his objective not to rescue Cobb, Din could think of about thirty ways to blow the place sky high in about ten minutes. No matter how much satisfaction it would bring him to watch the place burn, that wasn't the mission. It was for this reason that despite his initial fury, Din had decided that a little bit more finesse was in order. After all, it wasn't just Cobb he needed to free but the villagers as well. And so, after months of successfully avoiding the other man, Din found himself calling Greef Karga and asking for information. 

Karga had been surprisingly helpful in the end, although whether that was because he wanted Din back in the guild or because he was merely bored, the Mandalorian didn't know. Either way, Karga had provided him not only with useful information but with a pretext to enter their fortress as a potential friend rather than an enemy. Despite their eventual success at taking Mos Pelgo, the Red Key syndicate was still relatively small-time. Their primary source of income came from the mines, and the already thriving crime world in Mos Eisley took little notice of them. Given the state of their security, Din couldn't help but think that the Red Key should hope that it stayed that way. While it currently seemed as though they would content themselves with their meager slice of galactic crime, Din knew ambition when he saw it. Taking Mos Pelgo had been a drastic step for what had recently been little more than a failed organization, and even if their margins were slim, they would no doubt be seeing the rewards of their risk. Din doubted it would be long before they grew bored of their meager earnings and decided to move in on the Hutts in Mos Espa or Mos Eisley. That was the thing about idiots; they didn't know how to quit while they were ahead. Din smiled bitterly at that. If they had had any sense, they would have left Mos Pelgo alone after trying to take it the first time. It was alright. Din would make sure they learned. 

If the scout was any indication of their personnel's competency, they wouldn't turn their noses at a chance to work with someone of his reputation. And Din had a reputation. Of course, Din had had one back when he was just a simple bounty hunter, but now it had taken on a life of its own. Karga had informed him that he was in higher demand than ever before since killing Gideon and claiming the dark saber. Clearly, the news had traveled far faster than he had. According to the guild, he was now probably one of the most feared fighters in the galaxy, perhaps even more than Bobba Fett before him. Of course, this reputation meant that taking Ad'ika into this thieves' den was as far from advisable as possible. The rumors around his child were somewhat less decisive, but there was always a chance that some might find out the truth of Ad'ika's powers. Din wouldn't risk that. So, after an hour of heading west from Mos Pelgo, Din had changed course and re-routed towards Mos Eisley. 

Peli had been overjoyed to see her little 'womp-rat' again after so long, and so he had left him in her care. It had hurt to let the child out of his sight after so long, but it needed to be done. Din needed to get Cobb back and right the wrong that had been done, and he couldn't do that if he spent the whole time worried about his child's safety. He had told Ad'ika this in their last moments together before his departure. Though his child still had not quite mastered any form of communication other than cooing, Din couldn't help but feel that Ad'ika understood.   
After saying goodbye, Din had made his way into town to re-stock. It was not that the Razor Crest's Arsenal was lacking, rather that if he was going to leave nothing but ashes in his wake, which he thoroughly intended to do, Din probably needed several more detonators. 

After a few more minutes of reconnaissance, Din rose from his position with a sigh. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and made the short walk across the dunes back to the Razor Crest. Though it never hurt to gather as much intel as possible, the syndicate's numbers and defenses had been clear relatively quickly. Perhaps, a part of him had needed to take the time to prepare himself. Din had steeled himself for the sight of Cobb, no doubt in chains, when at last he made it inside the fortress. Chains that Din had had a part in putting him in.

Seeing and hearing exactly how small-time and poorly run the syndicate seemed to be was like salt in the wound. Everything he saw made it even more apparent that the Red Key's capture of Mos Pelgo had been a stroke of luck on their part. If Cobb had been better armed, he no doubt could have beaten them back again. If Din had stayed…Well that hardly bared thinking about. As much as he might want to, Din couldn't change the past. He couldn't go back to that day and decide for once in his life not to run away from happiness. Din shook his head. He was here now, and in a matter of hours, Cobb would be free again. "And then what," said the little voice in the back of his head. Din had no answer. 

He re-landed the Crest a decent way from the fortress, but close enough that should he need to shoot his way out, it wouldn't be too difficult. Din highly doubted things would fall apart that quickly, but habit forced him to air on the side of caution. If anything had happened to Cobb, Din wasn't sure he would be able to stop himself from blowing the place apart. Din had stepped down from the gangplank onto the sandy ground when the door to the fortress hissed open, and a man stepped out, followed by a small guard and a few droids. They were all dressed in the same familiar rusty red the scout had worn. Their leader was tall and thin, with a sharp face weathered by the desert winds. As for the rest of them, they looked like a ragtag bunch of scoundrels. All had blasters, but none wore armor or protective gear. Clearly, they felt safe within the confines of their dominion. Din would have added that to his running list of their mistakes, but it was getting too long to keep track of at this point. 

When at last they reached the Razor Crest, the man in charge fell into what could only be described as a bow, which might have been comical if Din wasn't focused on the task ahead. He was used to some degree of apprehension, but deference was undoubtedly new.   
"Ah, the Mandalorian," the man said courteously, "We have been expecting you. Greef Karga informed us you would be joining us. My name is Var Onin. Welcome." His voice was as oily and off-putting as the rest of him.   
Din nodded curtly but didn't dignify the man with an actual response. Instead, he focused on securing the Crest, using the little remote on his wrist to close the bay doors. He made a little show of arming the ship's defenses while Var Onin watched curiously. "I'd tell your people to stay away from my ship if they want to see another day," Din said casually as one of the droids rolled over towards the ship, presumably to run a diagnostic. "Oh," asked the man nervously.  
"Detonation sequence gets activated if anyone messes with it while I'm not around," Din said matter of factly. It was only partially true, but there was no need for the other man to know that. Either way, the casual threat had the desired effect as Onin look mildly horrified.  
"Had a lot of trouble with that, have you," asked Var politely.   
Din couldn't help but smile sharply at that. "Oh, you have no idea. People on this dustball really can't seem to keep their hands to themselves," Din replied. "Either way, it's a mistake I ensure that they never make again." The venom in his tone was at least somewhat filtered by the helmet, but clearly not enough because he noticed the other man shiver slightly. Din was uncertain what had prompted the reaction, the icy words, or the way a gust of wind had caught his cape, revealing the dark saber at his side. The Mandalorian found he didn't really care which it was.   
After an awkward pause, Onin gestured hurriedly towards the open fortress doors. "Please follow me. My boss is expecting you," he said with a smile, although it was slightly more strained this time. Din nodded and followed the man across the short stretch of sand and into the waiting door. 

The Red Key's fortress was several degrees cooler than the arid heat outside and far darker. There were only a few lights at strategic intervals, and even then, the fortress was, at best, dim. Thankfully, Din would have been able to see if the place was pitch black. The array in his helmet immediately shifted to compensate for the low light. Din set about the task of mapping as much as he could as they made their way through the fortress. The feed from the helmet was being transmitted directly to his ship, and once he returned, he could use it to composite a schematic. That was, of course, if he couldn't find Cobb immediately. Din followed the blessedly silent Onin up a winding flight of stairs to what was presumably the fortress's highest floor.   
When at last they arrived at a broad set of doors, Din had seen enough to realize that there couldn't be more than thirty syndicate members in the whole fortress. Most of them appeared to be barely more than scavengers. There were probably only a few who could hold their own in a fight, and that was if the fight was with some other syndicate lackeys- not a Mandalorian.   
This didn't, of course, count those guarding the mines, but even in his first survey, Din hadn't seen more than ten. Not that he had expected them to be much larger than that. It was easy enough to maintain control over people who you had already bound when you were the only one with a weapon. They had passed a few droids and several servants as well, all in chains. Din had strained to catch a familiar face, but his memory of the villagers was shoddy at best. It was Cobb Vanth's face alone that haunted him. However, if he had any luck, there was a chance that one of them might recognize him. 

Onin opened the door to reveal the room within. It was relatively spartan compared to some of the syndicate fortresses Din had had the misfortune of finding himself in over the years. There were no girls in chains, dancers, or even the usual hodgepodge of lowlifes. It seemed as though the fortress indeed was home to only its members and their slaves. That was unsurprising. The Red Keys hardly had enough money or renown for such luxuries to become a necessity of doing business. Din scanned the room, but there was no sign of Cobb anywhere. As agonizing as that was, part of him was a little relieved. He wasn't sure if he would have been able to handle the sight of the proud Marshal in chains at the foot of some wannabe warlord's throne. 

Speaking of which, their leader had risen from his seat at the large table which dominated most of the room, to great Din with a short nod. Not impolite but certainly less sycophantic than his first greeting. Din returned the gesture with a sharp incline of his helmet. He had opted to keep his cape tossed over his shoulder, hand resting close enough to the saber to make it clear that if they were foolish enough to want a fight, they would get one. Part of Din almost hoped they would be foolish enough to try. Yet, this was relatively unlikely. Especially when the Red Key needed him. What better way to prove you are owed a seat at the table than to employ the galaxy's new most famous bounty hunter. 

"Welcome," said the man, his tone self assured as he crossed the room to stand before Din. He was Arta Vas, Din remembered Karga saying, the leader of the Red Key Syndicate. Arta was relatively young, perhaps a little more so than Din himself, and had such an air of self-importance that it was almost palpable even from a distance. He had cropped brown hair and wore clothes a little too fine to be practical for the climate and his profession, although they too were the same red-brown. Arta Vos was hardly an anomaly. Din had seen his type before, and he had despised them then just as much as he did now. Men like Vas were a dime a dozen. Jumped up, self-important, faithless wastes of oxygen who deep down knew just how dangerously close to the edge they were.

Unaware of the icy glare he was receiving, Vas continued with a smile.  
"When Greef Karga reached out to inform us of your desire to do business, I must admit I was a little shocked," the man started. His tone was calm and almost disinterested. The posturing was enough to make Din slightly sick. It took every ounce of self-control he had not to draw his blaster and just end this now.

So, Din didn't respond. He didn't need to. Arta was clearly, as Karga had also informed him, all bark and very little bite. The silence stretched for only a few moments before, just as Din had suspected he would, Arta cracked. Admittedly it happened faster than the Mandalorian had expected. Usually, it took more than a second or two of silence, but perhaps that had been before he killed Gideon. Those with any sense had always been wary of him, but now it seemed, he inspired a little more fear.   
"I do not mean to offend," Vas said hurriedly, clearly worried he had just lost his shot at business with one of the most famous bounty hunters in the galaxy. "It is just that someone of your reputation rarely turns to a newer, smaller organization like my own instead of to the Hutts." Under the helmet, Din rolled his eyes- so we were back to pandering. 

"I have no particular allegiance towards the Hutts or the Guild for that matter," Din responded cooly, careful to keep his tone even. "They're more trouble than they're worth. Besides, in my line of work, it hardly matters who's hiring as long as they pay." Din watched some of the tension ease from Vas's shoulder after that.   
"On that, then we can agree," Vas smiled although it didn't quite reach his eyes, "Well, we certainly can pay, and I have no shortage of potential ends that need tiring up back in Mos Eisley." There it was, Din thought, the ambition. Perhaps, Din thought, had Arta Vas tried to build his empire anywhere else, he might have been great. But Arta had tried it on Tatooine, and now, as unstoppable as he may have thought himself to be, Vas was about to run into a wall.   
"That can be arranged," Din replied, watching the barely contained glee behind Vas' eyes.   
"Good," Vas continued, "I assume you take half payment up front and the rest after completion?"   
"That is the standard."   
"What is your fee?"   
"It depends on the target."  
"And are their limits on your services? Marks off limits, I mean." Ah, there it was, Din thought. Of all the veiled ways to inquire after his child, this was perhaps one of the better ones. Din sank into what no doubt appeared to be a more relaxed pose, but really wast. He let the question hang in the air for a moment as if he didn't already have an answer.   
"No," he finally said.  
Arta handled the deflection surprisingly gracefully, with a smile. Din watched as the man extended his hand. "Yes, well, in that case, I will need to confer with my advisors. In the meantime, perhaps we can offer you a token of our goodwill. We may not be as notable as some of the larger syndicates, but a friendship with us is not without its benefits."   
The offer was something he had hoped for but not expected. If they couldn't afford to pay him upfront, there was always another thing they might offer as a token of good faith—a slave. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could get Cobb out now and come back for the others. There was a chance, but it was slim. 

Din reached out and shook Vas's hand. The Mandalorian's acceptance seemed to please Vas, which was good. It was something Din could use to his advantage. Din paused, making a show of considering before he nodded and once again addressed the head of the Red Key Syndicate.   
"There is something actually which you might be in a position to help me with. I find myself in need of an extra set of hands-on my ship."  
Vas' face lit up once more.  
"Ah well," said Vas consideringly, "if a hard worker is what you need, we have quite a fine selection, Is species or sex an issue?  
Din tried to figure out the best set of specifications to describe Cobb without being too obvious. Three years was a long time, but if they had any clue about his involvement with the Krayt Dragon, it wouldn't do to arouse suspicion.  
"Human is preferable," Din finally settled on. "Male if possible. A tough one. I travel fast and can't afford another burden."  
"Well, I think we have several candidates," Vas gestured towards Onin as he continued speaking, "Onin will take you to view our wares. I hope you don't mind, but I must confer with my colleagues. It has been a pleasure, and you will be hearing from us shortly." Vas smiled and nodded, looking incredibly pleased with himself. Din returned the latter before turning to follow the waiting Onin out into the fortress once more. As the doors swung shut, Din let himself exhale. 

"Right this way, Mandalorian," called Var Onin. Din nodded and followed the lieutenant down the stairs once more. They walked in relative silence, Din once again making sure to feed the new footage into the ship's program. Onin interjected a few times with information about their mining exports and their large inventory of organic slaves for purchase but seemed to give up when all he got in response were silent nods. After a few minutes, they rounded the corner to what Onin proclaimed to be 'domestic slave quarters." Din barely heard him. Everything seemed to fall away into silence as a familiar tune filled the air. It was a song he had heard nearly every night in his dreams, one he found himself whistling to the child when Ad'ika wouldn't fall asleep. The haunting melody from all those years ago that he had clung so tightly to, hoping beyond hope that it would keep the memory of Cobb Vanth from fading. But now, Din knew that this wasn't a memory. It was very, very real. 

Din didn't even need to look to know that it was him, that Cobb was there. He was alive. Passion swirled within him, and his eyes watered despite themselves. The song stopped, and the spell was broken. When at last Din could pull himself back to his senses, he realized that they had come to a stop in front of a large metal grate. Beyond it, Din saw bunks, some inhabited others empty. And then, there he was. Cobb Vanth, a little older, bright eyes tired and heavy with sadness. Din could barely look at him. For far from the first time, Din was thankful for his helmet. It hid the tears that threatened to fall as he looked at the man he loved in chains and a collar.   
"So," said Onin, "Do you see anyone here who fits the requirements? If not, there are more in the mines."  
Din nodded, watching Cobb's eyes widen slightly in what could only be recognition. A recognition which the Marshal was clearly trying to hide from Onin. What little signs of it there had been were gone just as quickly as they appeared. Did he know? Had Cobb guessed that Din had returned for him?   
"Yes," Din managed to say, barely managing to maintain the veneer of perfect indifference. "I think I've found exactly what I need."   
And he had. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's go! The boys are back <3   
> If you wonder what the tune Cobb is whistling is, it's a whistled section of a song called "Through the Valley" by Shawn James. That song is the official theme song for this fic (and also of Cobb and Din in their own way), and part of the story description is an interpretation of a line from this song.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Guys! Sorry for the delay, but here is the new chapter. I got kind of stuck on it. However! I will be adding another chapter, so this will be 11 chapters now instead of 10!   
> As always, thank you for the support. I love reading all of your comments. I hope you like the chapter!

"This one," Din said curtly, gesturing to Cobb with one gloved hand. It was only years of practice that kept it from shaking. In his cell, Cobb looked as though he were in a daze, eyes hollow and unfocused. When Din pointed to him, he did not look surprised, but there was a quiet pain in his beautiful eyes that made Din's heartbreak all over again. The cocky and kind man from his memory was gone, replaced with a shadow of what had once been him. Now that the shock of seeing Cobb like this had faded somewhat, Din could take the entirety of the scene. It was somehow better and worse than he could have imagined. 

The Marshal seemed whole, in body at least if not in spirit. His hair was a little longer, beard a little less manicured, but he didn't look sickly in the way Din had seen so many of the other slaves look. As Din looked him over, the durasteel collar on Cobb's neck caught the dim afternoon sunlight, glinting cruelly. The Mandalorian couldn't wait to take the horrible thing off, to punish the ones who had put it on. Cobb was dressed, much like the others, that Din had passed in the fortress, in simple clothes. They were too big, hanging from the Marshal's lanky frame, highlighting just how gaunt the other man had become. 

The worst, though, was that Cobb wouldn't even look at him. His gaze was cast downwards in what almost looked like submission. Din longed to reach out, to run a hand across Cobb's jaw, pull him close, and tell him it was all going to be okay. But he couldn't afford to make a scene now, so Din waited. He had waited three years for this. He could wait a few more minutes. 

" "Are you sure?" asked Onin, whose smile turned a little tense as he turned from Din to Cobb and back again, looking as though he was hoping Din wasn't. The Mandalorian tilted his head, challenge clear in his posture as he crossed his arms. 

"This one is a bit of a trouble maker," Onin continued carefully. " I think perhaps we could find something better suited to your needs." 

There was a nervousness in the man's tone that concerned Din, but he remained resolute, a wall of silent beskar. It was clear that Arta had kept Din around for something. Any other slaver would have thrown him in the mines, but clearly, Cobb had been kept somewhat well. If Din was a betting man, he would have guessed that perhaps it had been out of spite. Din could think of few punishments worse than watching as your people succumbed to the mines, falling ill from being overworked or beaten. 

Din gritted his teeth at the thought but remained silent. 

He suspected he had enough potential value to the syndicate that his request wouldn't go unfulfilled. If his suspicions were correct, Onin would eventually falter. After a moment, he did. Under his helmet, Din suppressed a sigh of relief as the Lieutenant's face fell into that same sycophantic smile. "Well, of course, if this is the one you want, then he is yours," Onin said with a little bow. 

Din turned his gaze from Onin back to the Marshal, but Cobb kept his eyes carefully trained on the dust floor. Onin kept to speak, but Din found himself only half-listening. "He is chipped, but I assume you will want to install your own. You'll need it with this one. Unlike most of the others, he has never acclimated quite well to his position," sneered Onin, tone poisonous as he gave Cobb a vicious look. Again Cobb didn't react. 

"I will remove out standard-issue chip first, and then he will be released to you," Var continued, "I suggest you leave him cuffed until you've broken him in properly." 

The turn of phrase made Din feel slightly sick. The idea that even after all this horror that Cobb Vanth could be broken by any man was laughable, but now as he watched the Marshal through the bars, Din wasn't so sure. The Marshal seemed almost frozen in place, stock still like an animal caught in a trap. 

Din nodded curtly in lieu of an actual response, stepping aside to allow the slaver to open the door and enter the cell. The few others who were chained inside flinched at the sound of the door, cowering as Onin entered in a way that spoke of horrors Din didn't want to imagine. Cobb, however, was perfectly still as Onin undid the shackles at his ankles. In the hall, Din watched with bated breath as Onin pulled a small datapad from his pocket and initialized the sequences to deactivate the tracking chip implanted at the back of his neck. 

Cobb gritted his teeth in pain as Onin, none too gently, began the extraction process with a small device no larger than a pen. Din had lived long enough and traveled in the underworld long enough to know how painful such extractions could be. He knew he would need to clean the wound as soon as they returned to this ship to prevent it from getting infected. Cobb cried out in pain, and Din's hand flicked towards his blaster on pure instinct. It fell away, though, just a moment later. Instead, the Mandalorian clenched and unclenched his fist, needing to do something with his hands to stop himself from beating Onin half to death for causing the Marshal pain. As Onin continued to slowly extract the chip, Din fell into an old breathing technique from his childhood training, letting each breath bring him closer to the calm he so desperately needed.

The minute they were safe in the Razor Crest, Din would find out exactly what had passed between the two of them. Violence was a useful tool for slavers, but the glint of hatred in Var Onin's eyes as he pulled out the chip, betrayed something a little more insidious. Whatever his grudge was with Cobb, it was personal. Thankfully the process didn't last longer than a few minutes. Eventually, the grunts of pain subsided into silence once more. 

Soon after, Onin emerged from the cell, with Cobb following quietly behind, eyes still trained on the ground. Dying sunlight streamed in through the little window in the hall, catching the silver in Cobb's hair. In an instant, Din was back in Mos Pelgo, watching the morning sun pour down over the Marshal as he played with Ad'ika in the kitchen, the smell of spiced tea in the air. But this time, there was no smile on Vanth's face, just a mask of cool calm. 

Onin led them back through the fortress towards the large door, running Din through his specific methods to keep insolent slaves in line. As they walked through the fortress, Din noticed that many of the other slaves turned from their tasks to watch them go. None of them called out, but Din could see the hope fade from their eyes as the Marshal followed Din and Onin outside. A part of him wished he could tell them not to despair, that he would return for them, but he couldn't. Instead, he held his head high and nodded politely whenever Onin addressed him until, at last, they reached the large doors. 

Onin bowed deeply as they parted. "We look forward to a long and fruitful relationship between you, Mandalorian, and the Red Key Syndicate. Our leader will be reaching out to you soon," said Onin.

Din, keeping with tradition, remained quiet, nodding in response before turning and making his way back to the Razor Crest. He didn't even need to turn to know that Cobb was following behind him, footfalls soft on the cooling sand. They crossed the short stretch of ground between them and the ship in silence. It wasn't that Din feared anyone hearing, but rather that he didn't trust himself to speak. 

The suns were starting to set, and as Din lowered the gangplank and motioned for Cobb to enter the ship, he was struck by how lovely the Marshal was. Despite everything, living in a cell for so long, witnessing the death and pain of the mines, Cobb Vanth was beautiful in the Tatooine sunset. His silvery hair caught in the dying light, and his eyes glimmering like two twin flames as he finally turned to look at Din for the first time since the cell. There was no hatred in the gaze, no anger even, just more of that profound sadness that nearly tore Din's heart in two. This time it was Din who turned his gaze down towards the ground. When at last the Mandalorian looked up, Cobb was inside the ship and out of sight. 

When at last Din followed him inside, Cobb had fallen back against one of the cold durasteel walls, eyes closed. The fine lines of his handsome face were smoothed out, making him look younger than even before Din had met him all those years ago. He looked almost peaceful.

The weight of everything he had so longed to say felt crushing. But now wasn't the time or the place. Din needed to get Cobb as far away from this place as fast as he possibly could. He needed him to be safe. So, Din quickly closed the bay door, striding past the Marshal towards the cockpit without a word. Cobb didn't call after him. He didn't need to. Din felt those bright eyes follow him as he walked away. 

A few minutes later, they were in the air, heading away from the Red Key's fortress at speed. Two hours passed in what felt like seconds, and finally, Din brought them down in Peli's familiar landing bay. The suns had long set, and now the sky was filled with stars. Din sat in his pilot's chair, head tipped back as he gazed out at the sky beyond. It was only a matter of time before he would be forced to leave the cockpit's safety and go down into the main hold. Yet, as silly and impossible as he knew it was, part of Din longed to remain here. 

All of his plans seemed so foolish now. Everything he had wanted to say to Cobb, to ask of him, had been washed away the minute he had seen the ruins of Mos Pelgo. What was there to say now, after everything the Marshal had been through? Din sighed. Nothing but sorry, He thought. But even that didn't seem like enough. 

Din rose to his feet, taking a deep breath to steel himself once more before descending the short ladder. When at last, his boots touched the familiar ground, it was like gravity was switched off. He felt simultaneously light as air and heavy as lead. Din turned and found himself face to face with Cobb Vanth. How the mand had made it over to him so quickly, he had no idea. They were so close Din could see the flecks of gold in those hazel eyes as they regarded him solemnly. Not for the first time, the Mandalorian found himself desperately wanting to drown himself in their depths.

Unsurprisingly, it was the Marshal who spoke first. His voice was so low that Din found himself striating to hear it through the helmet. "You came back for me. I never gave up hoping you would, but with every day, it became crazier to hope. I couldn't help myself, though. When you came round the corner, for a moment, I thought I had finally lost it, but then I realized it was you and I- God Mando, you came back," said Cobb. It was spoken like a prayer, an exaltation even. Perhaps it had been that, Din thought. The very idea twisted something in his gut, once again making him feel sick. How long had Cobb looked up at the stars and hoped to catch a glimpse of the Razor Crest?

"Yes," said Din, "I did." He wanted desperately to say more, but even now, he didn't trust himself. So Din did what he had always done. He hid behind short phrases and silence.

Cobb smiled. It was that same roguish twist of his thin lips Din remembered, but unlike in all of Din's memories, this time, the Marshal's eyes were wet with tears. The pang of guilt and anger that swept through him at the sight was enough to make the Mandalorian want to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. He almost did. 

Without thinking, Din reached out a gloved hand, wiping the wet trail that made its way down Cobb's cheek. The Marshal inhaled sharply at the touch but didn't pull away as Din had feared he might.

The Marshal leaned into his touch, and it was all too much.

"Took you long enough," he said, with a hitch in his voice that threatened to break Din. 

"Oh, Cobb. I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry," Din's said softly, voice breaking as he fought to maintain his composure. "If I had known, I would never have left you," Din finished. Cobb's eyes softened.

"I know."

Din couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice as he spoke.

"Cobb. It's my fault. I took the only thing you had to-" Din started but was silenced as Cobb leaned forward, head falling gently onto Din's shoulder. The Mandalorian couldn't remember the last time anyone had been this close. When Cobb spoke again, his voice was just as low as before. "Mando, don't. Please. It's done now. It's the past. We can't change it now," Cobb whispered into the side of Din's helmet. The Mandalorian put his arms around the Marshal, pulling him in closer, his voice low as he spoke. "Din," he said, so quietly that he was afraid the Marshal might not even hear him. "My name is Din Djarin." 

Din felt rather than heard the way Cobb's breath hitched at the admission. Whether the Marshal knew the revelation's significance, Din didn't know and frankly didn't even care. Right, now all he wanted was to hear Cobb say it. To call him by his true name. To see him. 

"Din," Cobb said shakily, and it was like his heart was breaking all over again. The Mandalorian pulled the other man even tighter towards him, afraid that he might be ripped away. 

"We're going to get them back,  _ Cyar'ika _ ," Din whispered. Running a gloved hand through Cobb's hair gently. The word flowed from his lips before he had even had time to consider its implications.  _ Beloved.  _ He barely even spoke Mando'a to his child, but somehow it had never felt more fitting. 

Din wasn't sure how long they stood like that, Cobb pulled tightly against him, the Marshal's head resting against his neck. It came to an end with a sharp rap against the bay door. Cobb slowly pulled away, and the loss Din felt was immediate. The Mandalorian strode over to the door, punching in the opening code. 

When the door slid open, he was greeted with the sight of Peli holding his child in her arms. She looked from Din to Cobb and sighed loudly. 

"Jeez, Mando. Where did you dig this one up from?"

Before Din or Cobb could answer, the child had sprung from her arms, waddling hastily over towards his father. Din scooped up Ad'ika bringing him close. "There you are," Din said softly, "I'm sorry I had to leave you, little one." The child cooed happily but quickly turned his attention to Cobb. There was a flash of recognition in the little one's eyes as he looked at the Marshal, face falling into a happy smile. The Marshal's face lit up, and the Din watched as Ad'ika reached out his little arms towards Cobb. 

The Marshal suddenly looked uncertain.

"I think he missed you," Din said softly, moving closer and holding the child out to Cobb, who took him with careful hands. Din and Peli watched as the child cooed, nestling his head into the side of Cobb's face, big eyes falling closed as he leaned into the Marshal. "I missed him," said Cobb, who's eyes had also fallen closed as he held Ad'ika closer to him. Peli looked slightly bemused by the sight, but all Din could think was how right it looked. 

"So," whispered Peli conspiratorily as they watched the Marshal and the child, both of whom seemed lost in their own little world. "You gonna tell me who the hell this guy is? Or where you went? Or anything at all?" 

Din smiled, not that Peli would be able to see it under his helmet.

"He is who I was looking for," he replied simply. 

Pelli huffed exasperatedly. "Yeah, fine, but who the hell is he? Is he a bounty? A friend? Your cousin, a long lost relative," she asked pointedly. 

"You think I'd let a bounty hold my kid?" he asked incredulously. Peli shrugged as if it seemed like something she wouldn't quite put past him. The Mandalorian shook his head, turning back to Cobb and the child. It was a fair enough question, although not one he really felt he had the answer to. 

He could give very few answers that wouldn't result in Peli grilling Cobb for information the moment they went inside. "The man I intend to marry," while the most accurate was hardly a good idea with Cobb so close. So, after a moment's reflection, Din replied with the closed thing to the truth he could manage without the weight of the implication becoming too much. 

"He's clan," said Din, "My clan. A clan of three."

There was a brief pause, and then Pelli snorted at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Is that some kind of weird Mandalorian thing," she asked dubiously, a knowing glint in her eyes as she looked at him. 

Din laughed, so loud and forcefully that it pulled Cobb and the child back to reality. The Marshal looked at him with a slightly shocked expression, and at that moment, it occurred to Din the Cobb had never heard him laugh before. In Vanth's arms, the kid giggled, pulling gently at the Marshals shirt. 

"Yeah," DIn said, more to himself than to Peli. "Something like that." 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

Din had been waiting for over two hours. The mechanic had absconded with a somewhat bemused Cobb to "freshen up," whatever that meant. Din knew that it would no doubt take some time to wash off the dust and grime that had formed a thin sheen on Cobb's skin. His hair would need to be cut too, the collar removed, clothes disposed of. But he had thought that it would take an hour at most, maybe even less than that. The child, tired from what was probably a little too much excitement at his father and Cobb's return, was sleeping heavily in his bassinet. Even though the bassinet's shields, Din would've sworn he could hear the kid snoring. Unfortunately, that left Din alone in Peli's home with nothing but his own thoughts. It was hardly an ideal situation.

He tapped his foot on the ground in a comforting rhythm, needing desperately to move but not wanting to disturb the child. Din sighed, leaning back into the small chair he was perched on, and tried to find something to distract himself with. His mind turned easily towards his plan of attack. With Cobb safe here in Mos Eisley, he could return the next evening to rescue the others. Din could have returned that night, but he wanted to ensure Cobb was taken care of first. As selfish as it might be, the Marshal was his priority. Storming the fortress would be easy enough, and if he was honest with himself, he couldn't wait for a chance to make Onin and Vas pay for what they had done. Din rarely, if ever, took pleasure in death, but he was finding it hard not to enjoy the prospect of ridding the world of the Red Key. 

When at last Peli and Cobb returned, Din was mentally running through his arsenal and calculating the best point of entry. The sound of the door sliding open with a hiss pulled Din from his thoughts. Cobb was chuckling at something that Peli must have said, eyes crinkling around the corners as he smiled. He looked good. The collar and the disgusting clothes were gone, replaced by a pair of pants and a deep blue shirt, both of which looked relatively familiar. A moment passed before he realized why. 

"Those are my clothes, aren't they," said Din, keeping his tone neutral. Truth be told, there was something oddly satisfying about that. Not that he had any desire to explore what it was about seeing Cobb in his clothes that he liked. The shirt was a little large, but the color looked wonderful against the Marshal's tan skin. If anything, he was surprised the two of them had even been able to find the small drawer where he kept his extra clothes at all. Though clean and well organized, the Crest has so many compartments that even Din had trouble getting his hands on what he needed. 

Both of them turned to look at him. Pelli looked unimpressed as ever, crossing her arms in defiance. "Yeah, they are. It's not like any of mine would fit him. Besides, I have never seen you out of that armor, so I doubt you needed them," Pelli huffed, unrepentant as she strode towards the kitchen.

Din saw Cobb stifle a smile as he turned to look at him. The Marshal at least had the decency to look somewhat apologetic as he crossed the room to sit at Din's side. Din tried not to shudder at the way Cobb ran a hand across his shoulder as he passed him. It was such a casual act, and yet it felt like so much more. There was a comfort to it, and yet a trepidation as well as if the Marshal longed to do more but couldn't summon the courage. A few feet away, Din could make out the faint sounds of what sounded like Peli putting on a pot of caf. 

"Sorry," Cobb said quietly after a few moments of sitting in comfortable silence. The Mandalorian turned to look at him. The light from the small lamp above made his eyes seem darker than Din knew they were, but no less magnetic. If anything, they were more so. 

"I should have asked," Cobb continued, "I don't really have anything to my name right now, and all the vendors have packed up. As soon as I can, I'll make sure I return them to you." There was a subtle tremor in Cobb's voice that instantly had Din feeling guilty. 

Din shook his head, feeling like an idiot. "No, I didn't mean it like that. They look nice on you, is all that I meant." 

Cobb's hollow cheeks flushed a little at that. In the low lights of the Peli's living room, he might not have noticed if it weren't for the infrared sensors on the helmet. While the colors weren't as vivid through the visor, it did have some advantages. "Oh, thank you," the Marshal finally managed, looking wonderfully bashful. Din found himself leaning a little closer, hand coming to rest gently on the Marshal's leg. He tapped Cobb's muscular thigh gently, meaning for it to be friendly. When the flush on the Marshal's cheeks heated and his heart rate increased, Din realized that it probably hadn't been taken that way. The Mandalorian was about to pull his hand away when the silence was broken by a shout from Peli.

"So, Cobb. I assume you need a place to stay for the night. Unless grumpy over there wants to share that tiny sleep compartment on the Crest," she called out from the kitchen. Cobb, who had quickly turned his attention to smoothing out a wrinkle in the table cloth, looked somewhat bemused. The Marshal's heart rate had lowered, but that lovely flush had spread down to the portion of his neck exposed by the half-buttoned collar of Din's shirt. 

"I doubt we would both fit," Din deadpanned. 

"Well, where there a will, there's a way," came Peli's shouted response.

He subtly turned towards Cobb to gauge his reaction. Cobb now looked completely mortified. Whether this was at Peli's words or Din's response, the Mandalorian wasn't sure. 

She had a point, of course. The two of them could hardly fit in the sleeping compartment as it was now, especially not with Din in full armor. He would need to get it expanded, Din thought absentmindedly. It would hardly do to have it so cramped that the three of them couldn't be somewhat comfortable. The cargo bay could lose an extra foot of width and still be functional. The Mandalorian made a mental note to ask Peli how much it would cost to make the modification in the morning. It was hardly a question he wanted to ask now, while Cobb seemed to have short-circuited slightly at the idea. So, with a small sigh, Din addressed the Marshal. 

"You can take the couch. I'll go back to the Crest with the kid."

Cobb nodded quickly, but Din sensed that there was something on the Marshal's mind. Thankfully, before he could stick his foot in his mouth again, the Marshal spoke. 

"Do you mind if he stays here with me tonight," Cobb asked hesitantly, gesturing towards the snoozing child. The other man looked certain that Din would refuse, although how he thought Din could deny him that after everything, the Mandalorian had no idea. The Marshal continuing, eyes glimmering and so very sad. "I just. In the cells, I never slept well, and having him around… I don't want to be alone."

Din removed the hand which had only just now realized was still resting on the Marshal's thigh, bringing it up to trace Cobb's jaw with a gloved finger. He was no doubt overstepping his bounds, and yet Din found he hardly cared. The need for contact was too strong. 

"Of course," said Din, trying not to melt as the tension visibly eased from the Marshal's shoulders. 

"Thank you." It was almost a whisper. 

After an hour or so of sitting quietly as Peli and Cobb chatted, they settled in for the night. It was somewhat sad to leave them all, but the Mandalorian was just as exhausted as the rest of them, and as Peli rightly pointed out, "it would do no good for him to be up all night standing guard here." So, Din left the Marshal curled up on the couch, with Ad'ika still asleep in his bassinet, and crossed the yard. A few moments later, Din was inside the safety of the Razor Crest. He disengaged his helmet, setting it down on the ground. The cool air felt wonderful on his skin. Tatooine day's in the armor were murder, but at night he was rather comfortable. Din ran a hand through his hair as he looked around the main compartment with newly critical eyes. Everything in his ship was there for a reason, of course. It hardly did to waste space on frills, but a few adjustments would need to be made if it was going to become at all hospitable for the two of them and the kid. Granted, it would probably be a decade before Ad'ika was large enough to need anything bigger than the bassinet. 

He paced the length of the ship, noting areas which could be taken in a bit here and there. It would still be tight, but it was manageable. Storage would need to be carefully thought out, but it wasn't like he or Cobb had very much in the way of personal effects. 

Din opened the sleeping compartment with a sigh, climbing in and letting the doors close behind him. As he had done so many nights before, Din stared up at the ceiling, his mind still racing. In the darkness of the compartment, the little stars fixed to the roof began to glow comfortingly. They had been added sometime after they left Tatooine, and though they were not in any particular pattern, Din enjoyed picking out make up constellations with Ad'ika. They had purchased them in a bazaar on Jakku during another one of their wild bantha chases, and Din had been incredibly overcharged. This was doubtlessly due in part to the fact that the child had refused to move until Din came and looked at the stand. The merchant had clearly seen blood in the water and had chared Din three times what the things were worth. However, it had been worth it to see his child's eyes light up as he painstakingly adhered them to their sleep compartment's ceiling. His stories weren't as good as the Marshal's, but they had served to lull the kid to sleep on many a night. Now though, their twinkling light was less comforting and more taunting. Maybe he was being silly. After all, there was always the chance that Cobb would want to stay in Mos Pelgo. The village would need to be rebuilt, and the people might want their Marshal to stay and help them. There was little doubt in his mind that if they asked him, Cobb would stay. But could Din? Sure he had dreamed about having a little life there in Mos Pelgo, taking care of their kid, helping protect the town maybe, but that was all it had ever really been—a dream. One that was perfect in its impossibility. 

All he had ever been since the day his parents died was a Mandalorian—a warrior. He knew no other way. It was what he was good at. Could he truly ever set down his armor and become something other than a hunter? Din sighed, frustrated with himself. 

There was also a chance that Cobb would say no to all of it, and then none of this would matter in the first place. Din cast that thought aside, even the mere start of it too painful to consider. He forced himself to close his eyes, and soon, under the light of their little stars, Din fell asleep. 

He woke early, stretching languidly before opening the compartment door and stepping out into a new day. After washing the sleep from his eyes and halfheartedly attempting to fix his hair, before eventually giving up, he replaced his helmet and stepped out into the early morning light. It was early enough that Mos Eisley was still relatively quiet, and the Mandalorian enjoyed this as he made his way across the yard and back into Peli's abode.

He was instantly confronted with the sight of the Marshal, fast asleep on the couch, the bassinet resting beside him. Din quietly approached, quickly noticing that the bassinet itself was open and Ad'ika wasn't inside it. For a moment, Din felt panic swelling within him. However, a familiar snore swept it away in an instant. The child was, curled tightly against the Marshals' chest, sound asleep. Din picked up the large blanket that had fallen over onto the floor and gently spread it over the sleeping pair. Thankfully neither the child nor Cobb stirred. He was backing away as quietly as he could when Din nearly crashed into Peli, who must have been in the kitchen if the cup of caf in her hands was any indication. 

"Gods, Mando," she hissed quietly, "you nearly scared me half to death." Din inclined his helmet in what he hoped she recognized as an apology. Pelli just shook her head, gesturing him out of the door and back into the yard. The door hissed quietly closed behind them. 

Peli took a sip of her caf, looking at the Crest. 

"Figured we could let them sleep a little longer," she said in her gruff yet kind way. Din nodded.

They watched the twin suns rose a little higher in the sky, and in the distance, the sounds of early morning business began. 

"I actually was hoping you could help me see to some modification on the Crest," he said in what he hoped was a casual tone. Given the smirk Peli shot his way when she answered, it clearly wasn't as casual as he would have liked. 

"What kind of modifications," she asked slyly. "The kind you'd need to take an imperial ship down, or the ones you need to get three life-forms, one of who wears an uncomfortable amount of armor, living comfortably on a ship the size of the shoebox." 

Din huffed. "The second kind."

Peli laughed. "I knew it. So, I suppose you'll need that sleep compartment expanded. It'll cost you though, I figure quite a bit will need to be moved around in there." 

Din smiled. 

They were halfway through haggling about how much of the cargo hold could reasonably be overhauled when the door opened, and Cobb emerged, with the child in his arms. He looked mesmerizing in the morning sunlight. 

"I told you they hadn't left," the Marshal said to Ad'ika in that gentle drawl of his. The child cooed softly, turning to look with wide eyes at his father. Cobb set the kid on the ground and watched with a wise smile as Ad'ika waddled off to inspect some spare parts lying in a heap by the Crest. 

"Do I need to be keeping an eye on him over there," asked the Marshal with a little quirk of his lips. Din shook his head. 

"No. He's been around worse and hasn't managed to hurt himself yet."

Cobb nodded. "Good, because I need to talk to you about something," said the Marshal. His expression was kind and calm as ever, but Din was very aware of the sight tension in the way the other man stood like he was steeling himself for a fight. Din nodded by way of response, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

"Perfect," said Cobb with a strained smile, before turning to address Peli. "Morning, Peli. Thank you for letting me sleep on the couch last night. Haven't slept that well in a long while. Though, I might come in a grab a cup of that caf you made in a minute if that's alright." 

Peli smiled. "Sure thing. How about I run in and make a fresh pot? Give you two a minute to chat," she said, casting a knowing look between the two of them before heading back inside. 

There was a moment of silence, broken only by Ad'ika's little noises of amusement as he levitated scarps of metal. 

"So," Din said, uncertainty seeping into his voice even through the modulator, "What was it you wanted to talk about?"

Cobb sighed, finally meeting Din's gaze. Those big tired eyes somehow seeming to star straight through the beskar of his helmet, even though Din knew that was impossible. 

"When you said we would go get them back, did you mean it?" asked the Marshal quietly. The question took Din aback. Surely, Cobb didn't think he had changed his mind about rescuing the others.

"Of course I did, Cobb. I promised you, didn't I," said Din as reassuringly as he could, reaching out to take one of Cobb's hands in his own. The Marshal sighed, shaking his head, but not pulling away.

"No, I mean when you said we did, you mean both of us would go back?" Ah. So that was the issue. Din sighed deeply, knowing that no matter how he phrased what he needed to say, that it would make Cobb angry with him. "No," he said simply, "I meant that I would go." 

Cobb scoffed, mouth twisting into a cruel smile as his eyes went dark.

"And what," he hissed dangerously, sounding almost on the edge of tears. "I'd just stay here and let you run off alone, like some broken, weak thing that can't defend itself?" The sunlight caught in his silver hair, a light sheen of sweat on those sharp cheekbones making him glimmer like he was carved from diamond as he stared Din down. Din had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. 

Din nodded. Eyes flashing in anger, Cobb pulled away, but Din caught his wrist, pulling him in closer. When he spoke, the reverence in his own voice might have taken Din by surprise had he not come to the realization so long ago that he was in love with this wild man. "Yes. But not because you are weak,  _ Cyar'ika.  _ Because I am. We cannot lose you again. I cannot...lose you again." His voice broke softly, his gaze falling towards the ground. Just then, he couldn't bear to look up and see the hatred in Cobb's eyes, the disgust at his weakness and selfishness.

The words he feared did not come. Instead, Cobb relaxed in his grip. After a moment, the Marshal spoke, voice soft and kind as he reached up to trace a line across the edge of Din's helmet with his free hand, tipping it up so that the Mandalorian was forced to look at him. 

"Oh Din," Cobb said gently, "you can't protect me from the whole galaxy."

Din choked out something between a laugh and a sob.

"I've done pretty okay keeping the kid-safe." It was a bad joke, not at all fitting for the moment, but Cobb just smiled sweetly, shaking his head. "Din, I am not your responsibility. Those people are mine, though, and I--"

"But you could be…" Din interjected before he even had time to think about it. Cobb's eyes widened, lips falling open to reply, but no words came out. Din continued, not trusting himself to stop now because if he did, the Mandalorian was afraid he would lose the courage to start again. 

"I came to Mos Pelgo for you. I came because, after all that time, I never forgot the way you smiled, or that tune you whistle, or the way you took care of the kid and me like we were your own clan. You were everywhere I looked, and every day from the time I left cursed myself for leaving you. I came to ask you to be mine and even if you don't want to be...I can't risk anything happening to you. I would have burned that place to the ground had I found you dead, and if something happened to you now..." Din trailed off as he felt Cobb lean in ever closer to rest his forehead against his own. 

"You're an idiot, Din Djarin," the Marshal murmured. Din felt a tear roll down his cheek under the helmet and wondered if Cobb knew. If he knew that this was a kiss. That this was the highest form of intimacy, he could offer outside of removing his helmet. Part of him thought the Marshal just might. "Tell me this, Din," Cobb whispered. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe If I let you go alone, and something happened, that I wouldn't be able to go on either?" 

Din couldn't answer, but clearly, that was answer enough. The Marshal spoke again, and though he couldn't see it, Din could hear the smile in his voice. "Yeah, I thought not. Everything that's happened that gone wrong has been because we let each other go. So you're going back for my people, and I'm coming with you. We do this together, as one. We protect one another." 

That, thought Din, was something he couldn't argue with. 


End file.
